


Anthology

by Clavain



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Pokemon, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon, Psycho-Pass, Sherlock - Fandom, Subeta (Game), Team Fortress 2, The Tempest - Shakespeare, Wolf's Rain, meme - Fandom, どうぶつの森 | Animal Crossing Series
Genre: Collection of unfinished works, a homage to my preteen angst, all the pairings lowkey or implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:38:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6658027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clavain/pseuds/Clavain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>collection of unfinished/old/short works</p><p>each chapter title says the fandom and status of work (old/short/unfinished)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. subeta | short

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pet profile for subeta.net. Can be seen where I coded and presented it here: https://subeta.net/petinfo.php?petid=5860595

occurring in cycles; regularly repeated.

public static void main (String args[])  
{  
public static void wasteland(String HippocraticOath, ArrayList temperature)  
{  
First: do no harm. You don't know what cold is; you don't get to be cold; you can't feel like that. Everyone knows this but you. You don't understand why you wake up shivering at night and drape the enemy's fallen bloodied flag you scavenged over your shoulders. The wind cuts you like a knife and they remind you that you don't know what cold is. You can't feel that way. You're heartless. 

You agreed to this. You remember that. That's all you remember. 

They send you out into the icy wastes with an army at your back, baying for a cause you don't remember. You stitch their flesh together where it's been blasted apart because it's the only thing you know how to do. They tell you that your job is to protect and restore. You're a battlefield medic; you have teeth and claws but they're excess. Leftovers. 

There's a small pouch of medicines you carry and it surprises you that there are no plants here. You only remember this steel; these needles; this endless industry to keep death at bay is all you have left. It's all you've ever had, but something out-of-reach asks you about rivers and forest and medicinal herbs. You don't know what any of those are. You can't miss them; you miss them; you can't miss them and it hurts your head. 

They tell you that you can't feel that either. And it makes no sense to you. They could have spoken to the same effect. The effort is unnecessary and clumsy and organic. It answers nothing. It means nothing. Perhaps that is the point. They send you out again.  
}  
public static void medicalFunction(String[] knowledge, String[] residualMemories, String creatorMessage)  
{  
There's no flesh or covering to cushion anything; each step on the ground sends a painful grating shudder up through your joints. It hurts to run or move or even sit (maybe it just hurts: a truth). You did this to yourself. You remember that. You do remember it because you tell yourself that you do. Maybe if you chose it then it has some meaning. 

There might have been a before but there might as well have not been because it doesn't exist anymore. That which no one remembers is lost.

You grind your metallic vessel forwards each day and it hurts and they tell you that it helps others. They tell you that doesn't matter to you that it helps others; speak of you like a wind-up construct compelled towards every action. They deny you free will. It shouldn't matter; it matters; it has no right to matter and sometimes you look down at the thick metal claws, teeth and wonder what it would be like to destroy instead of mend. 

Then you go back to unsanitary bone saws to cut off the sick flesh (they have no alternative for the gaping mental wounds, tell you to shrug them off) with anger and self-disgust. It's the emotions; grey and red and black; you see them like they see the sky or battlefield; you hear their thoughts as clearly as their words. One moment there is truth pouring from them and into you in a torrent of information impossible to parse and then the clearest lies escape from their lips. 

Each day the sensory overload worsens with the chaotic thoughts of the damned and dead flooding from all directions. You can only take written orders because it deafens you and combined with the pain of moving, of being, you just want to crumple. 

For the first time you wonder if you should hate yourself for this condemnation. But you can't because you're not the person who agreed (sometimes you feel them creaking around the back of your skull with unfamiliar associations and alien emotional reactions) you're a new being. The previous one was your creator; your vessel; the ground you crush beneath your metal feet. 

Whatever agreed to this died shortly afterwards and left you here. Remnants of a dream, misguided, no sign of motive or plan, surrounded by individuals reducing you to a fatalistic path and inhumanity. You are faceless; you are a hound; and could it have always been like this? Time confuses you. 

Lips are flesh and muscle wrapped around teeth and bone, tied to the face with sinew. You once had a patient bite through theirs with pain. You thought the words cosmetic surgery but, oh, thanks, you don't know what that is. These words - poetry and fountain and lily of the valley - what were you thinking leaving them in your head? They don’t belong here. You don’t need words at all. 

You want to be clean and sterile. Away from the conflict, the helping and hurting, away from these words you use without knowing the meaning of and these people who pour their hatred down your throat until you choke on these fumes; these people; no more; you're getting out; you're-

One day the shadow (creator; origin; cross-section of a straight line) throws something at you. Maybe it’s always been there, this message, this achingly nostalgic sentiment representing something you’ll never know, but it’s there, and:

System.out.println("The horizon does not get closer as you approach. There’s nothing worth remembering; don’t try because forgetting is harder.");

You think the code from your handlers was more helpful and run needlessly fast, violently, bruising these pipes holding you together. It’s just this healing without context destroying you, you tell yourself, all you see is patching people up so they can return in pieces to be thrown into a glacier. You’re killing people and that doesn’t bother you; you’re killing patients and that means something strong to the emotional residue in your mind.  
}  
public static void resetWarning(Boolean limitReached, ArrayList Pain)  
{  
One day you throw it all to hell and run as far away as you can. You reach the edge of a polar ice field before they drag you back and overwrite that consciousness with a fresh one. You understand then, moments before erasure: this is not the first time you have fled. Awaken; heal; become; flee; return; repeat. 

“You’ve done this before.” You tell the person restraining you. 

They look away. Guilt, avoidance, both, neither. It hurts to try and isolate that feeling from the constant bombardment. 

“How many?” You ask, eyes glowing different colours, ears peaked. “How many times have you put me through this exercise in futility?” 

“Sisyphus.” He says it like it’s supposed to mean something to you; to cast a light on some great and meaningful truth. The pretense, the poetry frustrates you. How are you supposed to understand? He must know it means nothing to you. 

He adds nothing else. They took your identity; they gave you claws; they gave you teeth. Their loud thoughts bleed into yours: xe hasn’t attacked us in the last thirty rotations; xe won’t start now. You’re so busy concentrating on the one voice that you don’t see one of them take a cattle prod out and presses it into your side.  
}  
public static void pacify(String[] instructions, String[] availableActions)  
{  
You don’t lash out in pain (feels wrongwrongwrong) you curl up and go limp. They don’t press you again. 

“Conditioning worked.” One mutters to the other. “Now if we could just train xyr to focus maybe we could find a use for the telepathy.” 

“Xe doesn’t have the mental capacity to process the information. That’s why we couldn’t make xyr fight. Give up the dream.” 

You want to say something that will stay with them, make them suffer. Instead you reach for meaning. 

“I can feel temperature.” It’s half a wheeze. You’re unable to shift yourself from this position prostrate on the floor. “I can feel. Cold. And. I remember that I chose this. I can remember.” 

The one with the cattle prod starts unscrewing your metal cranium. You know what will come next and you choose, choose (this is important: you consciously affected something with forethought), to move your head up and grab that fat wrist covered in sinew and-

Another blocks you with a spanner. You were too fast; they knew it was coming. You must always do that; each time they try to wipe your mind clean your teeth must snap shut at that exact instant. Their timing is too perfect. You fear you’ve traveled around this wheel too many times. 

“I am.” You tell them, like it’s supposed to mean something. They don’t hesitate as they br- 

return;  
}

public static void main (String args[])  
{  
public static void wasteland(String HippocraticOath, ArrayList temperature)  
{  
Waking. Cold. First: do no harm. 

“You don’t feel the cold.” A spear; a voice; harpooned. 

Shuddering. Joints hurt. Everything hurts. Quake. Screeching sound of metal on metal. 

You’re still cold.  
}  
return;  
}

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Diary of Dr.{REDACTED} confirmed handler of Subject_23

DAY 1

They gave me another basket case this time. It's impossible to replicate entire neural networks in machines without leaving residual memories and associations, and this is another example of where the scanned mind was unable to withstand the stress of transformation. If they expect reliable drones they need to use simplistic AIs. 

Subject_23 is the worst kind of unbalanced: intelligent, quick, and violent. Upon our first meeting xe seemed disoriented, complaining of joint pains and sensory overload. Due to the nature of the project it would be counterproductive to reduce the sensitivity of xyr sensors. 

Upon nearing xyr cage xe almost instantly went prone. I suspected another incomplete copy and stepped forward to remove the body so it could be rewritten. Xe jumped me and would have gored my arm if not for [REDACTED]'s diligence. I asked for Subject_23 to be decommissioned but [REDACTED] denied my request yet again. 

The predisposition to violence must be halted before xe can do any damage. I've ordered a neural shunt which should be installed by tomorrow as well as the standard conditioning.

DAY 2

This new case is endlessly challenging. I have deleted the neural map from the database; xe is too volatile and the residual memories are too strong. By dominating they are preventing any kind of new identity from taking place. 

I have isolated new memory from the main algorithm to allow for multiple approaches at obedience training. However, their original skillset, as a medic, seems to have been entirely retained. It would be a waste to not use these skills. 

I have recommended their deployment as a medic for the ongoing Artic conflict once their conditioning is complete.

DAY 5

I managed to convince [REDACTED] that Subject_23 was not suited for the telepathy trial. Xe is unable to process information as it is, with the hypersensitivity required for xyr functionality. Telepathy would cause xe to completely break from reality. 

DAY 11

Six stitches. The anti-violence shunt is not functioning correctly. Under extreme stress SUBJECT_23 is still able to fight back. 

I'm recommending xe for the telepathy trial.

DAY 14

After three wipes SUBJECT_23 is still completely incoherent post-telepathy installation, although it appears to have worked as xe responds to our thoughts. 

Xe perceives physical sensation, sound, and thoughts as one stream of information which rapidly diminishes their sanity. It's likely that xe will have to be wiped at least weekly for the rest of xyr existence.

DAY 53

Today my team was called in to wipe Subject_23 again. 

Subject_23 is incapable of stability for a period longer than a week. We are able to deploy xe as a battlefield medic, but after a period of 6-9 days xe will run away. Telling xyr that xe is incapable of sensation or free will has thus far extended the period to 8-11 days. 

Xe is currently not proving a profitable investment and still attempts to bite the hand of whoever administers the wipe (today xe almost severed [REDACTED]'s wrist). The telepathy keeps xe confused enough that xe does not attempt to attack or disobey for the week-long period. 

This routine has been going for over a month, I expect it will continue. I have no interest in continuing work on this project. I will be passing the case on to [REDACTED].


	2. psycho pass | unfinished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> about akane

When she's young there are three pots on the teacher's table. One is for pens (only the experienced are allowed such an honour), one normal graphite pencils and one coloured. They were mixed up when she arrived, but since then she's sorted them. Fixed it.

She keeps them sharpened and it gets her the class star award three weeks running. Whenever someone goes up to put one in the wrong place she either corrects them or moves it herself. It's simple for her, a rule, an absolute, and it feels like maye if she didn't, maybe if something went wrong, everything would fall down. But it's a distant anxiety in her sea of peacefulness.

It's simple to her. It's all simple and she can see the complexities but she floats above and reduces it all to a binnary. There it is: chaos and order. She gently steers the class in the right direction.

Their jealousy colours their psycho passes. She rises above that, too. The law is right because it was decided by people more qualified than her (the child who cares too much about pens; who does her own washing because otehrwise she's not contributing enough) the law is the absolute, the end, the rule.


	3. ac:nl & the tempest | unfinished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not finished and no caps. amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no caps no spellcheck welcome to hell
> 
> unfinished

****

you demi-puppets (or: until the flood)

when she arrived on the island she didn't know where (she was). it's been a year and a day and there's been hell to pay but she’s still there. others have come and gone with alien faces and cardboard boxes, up into the air, but she hasn't won that lottery yet – she has not found an out. this she knows like she knows the cracks in her floor and the grains of sand on the beach she tried to count for a week. there is as much use counting the sand as watching the waves or sky because morning comes but rescue, relief? it's elsewhere, indefinable, far away from here. the horizon does not become closer as you approach. you get lost. beware.

sometimes she looks at the dirt (familiar, familiar) beneath her feet and realizes with dawning horror that she can place every tree in this valley, this prison, but she can’t find her way in time and she doesn’t know what’s over the cliff, where the water comes from before it tumbles down into that familiar lake. she’s here one day and here the next and it doesn't ever feel like it could (let alone would) change.

the bright houses are populated by strange things: puppets, faceless, lacking. she categorizes and assigns them appropriate roles, watches them and picks fruit and predicts what they say before it comes out. the puppet master? absent.

there’s something wrong but no one can place it. she looks at everything under the microscope, sits in the shop and watches mabel's mindless repetitive movements, like she’s sawing the cloth in half, and then out comes her design. clothes appear overnight: hats, umbrellas, goods, but there’s no van or storage area. they take her fish and bugs but for what? and there are so many fish, sharks and yet she can swim – but there’s this wall.

each day there are exactly four fossils (no more, no fewer) buried underground behind bushes and between flowers.

there are boundaries but they're closed. the beach is long and shells wash up without fail when they're removed or remain in a regular pattern eternally. rocks enclose the sea (bury it certain fathoms in the earth); a cliff encloses the land; a torrent of gushing water repels her from any attempt to climb free.

there are fish and fruit and bugs and hollow, hollow beings but there is no one like her. on halloween people assault her with repetitive games and give her glowing pumpkin heads (weak masters though ye be). on her birthday they invade her home, her space, and nothing is left sacred.

they told her she could choose where the house stood. first it was too close to the cliff, then the river, then rocks forced her to shift three times until she decided to build it solidly besides the waterfall. somehow she can't hear the rushing water, even inside the tent. they offer her music. it is not like home; it is not something she wants; she denies it and it still crawls into her ears through other people's speakers.

in the summer it's human in autumn the trees are gold and in spring they're a sickly pink like candy floss. she wants to expunge this world's sickness from her soul. it's enclosed and brutal and more violent than anyone could expect and she wants out; gone; away.

the same stilted movements, the same stiff faceted bodies of stiff facetious empty things. she picks up her shovel but can only dig one hole deep. she hits people with the axe and nothing happens. she chops down every tree and she gets a few complaints, nothing major, and has to do without food until they can grow again.

she loses everything on the turnip market until she works it out. then she makes millions which joan passively produces, without resistance or resentment or any humanity at all. she builds bridges in stupid places and benches everywhere she can see. smashes them down again, moves them two squares to the right, builds herself a mansion in a treeless desert and not once is she questioned or engaged.

ants appear on turnips when they are rotten. there are no other ants. she leaves a turnip out and watches it for days. the ants don't come. she goes inside the door and opens it and there they are. she picks up the rotten turnip and they're gone. she puts it back down and there they are again. repeats. the ants appear and disappear like they weren't ever there at all. she wonders if she's insane. struck by a sudden interest she tries to catch them in her net since they won't be moved by her hands and there's one in there.

she gives it to the museum. people go and stare at the ant. there's something hopelessly futile about that.

everything's so sweet that it cloys to the inside of her eyelids at night. perfect stars and flowers; a gentle stone patio around her home; trees with exactly three textbook fruit on them all. it's too much. it's too little. it's not real.

she decides to opt for destruction.

chop it down dig it up. break the bridges, the benches, the lighthouse she thought might brighten up this hell. destroy all the fruit (consumeconsumeconsume) and trample flowers when they arise. spend each day methodically running over the grass until there's only barren dirt left. catch fish to eat because you have to survive and leave the few bugs that remain alone. push past people, ignore them, hit them pointlessly with the axe (no reaction; never a reaction; oh it's desolate here and she's so so alone).

this barren landscape is hers and she doesn't want it. shaped by her footsteps, her paths, she's created a home. it's not enough. she starts fishing for tires and tin cans to coat the grass with, taking shells from the beach up there. it feels honest, somehow. villagers complain. the living dead move in and out.

she watches a house once to see how. this is what occurs:

1) they say they are leaving

2) their stuff morphs into boxes that she can't open because she knows that there's nothing inside. feels like an open sore on the fabric of reality

3) their door is locked and she is left outside. alternatively she can stay and then the procedure delays until she leaves

4) she watches the house all night. the door never opens again. when she next goes indoors the house is swallowed up by the landscape.

5) there is a scar in the grass where the building stood and no one but her and the landscape remembers that it was ever there

6) (let us not burthen our remembrance with / a heaviness that’s gone)

 

like clockwork the meaningless faces she meaninglessly attaches herself to leave and she finds herself a stranger in this desolate land. there’s something existential about making this place into a desert and sitting on a throne of tires and tin cans and rotting fruit with whinging empty things walking past like they can’t even see her. she plants rows and rows of pitfall seeds so no one can get close. makes it a battlefield. dreams about landmines.

in summer there are fireflies and she hates them. the butterflies; ladybirds; snails are all within her control. she tramples the flowers and they are gone, extinct: it's a peculiar genocide. when a few flowers regrow they reappear from nowhere and she dances the flowers to death so no more appear and catches them in the net. she wants to crush powdery butterfly wings between her teeth but she can't, tries and tries and tries but can't. she sells them and never sees them again or gives them to people to trap and display in their homes forevermore.

her own castle still towers above the others. it's broken, a hideous status symbol. she did not choose to be mayor. she could not refuse. she can be as corrupt as she wants and no one will complain. there is no humanity or outrage in these people beyond what they feel at being pushed too often although axes are fine.

she walks to the cliff edge and keeps walking. it's like there's a wall (but she can't feel it) there's nothing there but some nonphysical barrier that burns and pushes back. it hurts and it's the only pain in this place so she keeps walking for forty days and forty nights until she goes indoors and comes out to find ants on her rotting turnips and cannot wail or display any distress.

imagine you are conscious but you are bound by the rules of the world to limited choices. it feels like there are other options but you just can't take them. you cannot express yourself because that is not an option, but you can feel it still. your thoughts and underthoughts are burning with anger but you can't articulate them. all they expect you to do is keep watering flowers and it burns; burns; burns.

you try to destroy but they contain your destruction because there are rules. these are like physics. it feels like you are choosing not to jump off the cliff whilst you walk at the painful force dispelling you. you know it's all wrong but you can't think it and it makes you sick. you are alone because no one knows what you are. you express yourself with the awkward placing of benches and with minefields of pitfall seeds. you express yourself by cutting down every tree and caging every living thing you can. you trap these hollow beings which might be like you but seem empty facades by surrounding them with holes and observe them pushing against the gap (at this hour lie at my mercy all mine enemies). you express yourself by dying every single day with a smile on your face and running like it's for your life across ground, methodically destroying everything you can which shows any signs of life.

you are the mayor. you outlaw life. you switch between early bird and night own to disrupt their sleeping even though it affects no one (even you, even though it feels like it should). there is no rest and our little lives are not rounded by sleep you gather seashells and place them as disgusting litter and listen to isabelle's well-meaning passive-aggressive lectures about keeping the town beautiful.

you ride in a boat to an island and repeat it there and there's no escape. from the moment you climb on the boat it feels like you could leave but you can't. you picture yourself leaving, pushing the shithead turtle out and driving everything off this path, but you can't. your muscles will not move that way. it is not part of your path.

(thou hast slept well. awake.)

she's not free with the wind in her hair and sun/moon/clouds or whatever the other non-romantic option is on her back. she's not free when she's trampling the grass with vengeance or getting her hair cut into some hideous monstrosity with an unchanging grin on her face. when she puts all the gravestones (this thing of darkness i acknowledge mine) she got for halloween up in her house and sits next to them on a fucking lime (chair) in a huge middle finger to the happy home academy she's not free.

and there was something before this. she just doesn't remember what.

she can take photos but she can never see them. she can't see herself or feel her face (feels like she should) and maybe that's why the sun in her hair isn't freedom to her. somehow she knows she's smiling. if she could she would scratch this face off and emerge like some sickening butterfly.

there are no caterpillars here. she knows that there should be and that it's important but she doesn't know what a caterpillar is.

her basement is filled with tanks containing sharks. the tanks are too small for them to move or turn. they watch her when she stands down there (can't sit unless there's a chair o brave new world that has such people in it because these sharks are people and she's certain that chairs were optional or are supposed to be or something).

full fathom five thy father lies;  
of his bones are coral made;  
those are pearls that were his eyes:  
nothing of him that doth fade,  
but doth suffer a sea-change  
into something rich and strange.

the sharks watch her and it feels honest or real even though she’s ordering herself to sit and her body refuses.

seasons pass and there’s time not space. a dimension is lacking (melted into air, into thin air). everything and nothing changes; the trees cycle meaninglessly and the sun sets earlier and every arbitrary time period there’s snow on the ground. the villagers cycle but they are the same. Nothing ever rots; nothing is imperfect; and she’s adrift in this timeless ocean.


	4. borderland (pkmn) | unfinished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pokémon mewtwo emo bad time watch as i try and fail to write outsider pov
> 
> unfinished

When Amelia was young she had heard about the lab explosion, like one would of a car accident a few streets away: background; not immediate. It hadn't made much of an impression until they'd pulled it up on the interactive whiteboard in the middle of school. It had been a fuzzy image, surveillance footage printed in a newspaper then scanned in again, but it had still stuck with her:

A timestamp in the corner was smudged, unreadable, but present - a declaration of truth. The main frame was obscured by bright white fuzz indicating light, with a man kneeling to the side, arms shielding face from the intensity of the blaze. You could tell it was fresh, as the smoke had only just begun to spiral into the sky. There was a collapsed wall off to the right and at its tallest point it reached out of the frame.

Right in front of the flames, face blurred by the rapid turn of a head, stood what at first glance seemed to be the twisted stance of a human. The pokémon was bipedal and tall - taller than the average person - and contorted in a form that at first she thought was just twisted - broken - wrong - but later realized was bewilderment and pain.

"This rogue pokémon is dangerous and on the loose." The officer said before the class, eyes stern. "It is responsible for a large explosion and multiple fatalities." None of them knew what they meant, but the tone of voice told them all they needed. "If you see it, tell an adult straight away and run in the other direction as quickly as possible."

For weeks they had played Rogue Pokémon in the playground, chasing one another over the tarmac until James skinned his knee. After that he hadn't wanted to, and for most of them the incident had faded into memory, but something about it had stuck with her.

 

 

-

 

 

 

The first time Amelia saw the pokémon from the picture was a year later. She was ten, curious and headstrong. She always went out at dusk and hid in the bushes to watch the pokémon gather at the watering hole, especially in spring when the deerling were still so small. She was flat on the ground, watching a ducklett wander nearby when she saw the slumped bipedal figure float erratically towards the waterhole. They were bent in half, wheezing.

As soon as the levitation stopped the bundle collapsed onto the ground and physically dragged themselves to the water. She was curious, leaned closer. She felt something gentle and sad touch her mind briefly, then they almost wearily raised a hand in her direction. It was half acknowledgement, half plea, or so she thought before the thought /I'm supposed to tell mom/ rushed through her head.

At that, the pokémon let out a wail and shot off some energy in her direction. It clipped her arm, and she had a mild background headache for three days.

She ran home, but she didn't tell her parents. It didn't seem right, somehow.

 

-

 

For the next few days she turned to the computer to find more details about the pokémon. There was another image, on a webpage which had an address of only a string of numbers and no links, just the one picture, of the humanoid pokémon strapped to a metal crucifix in the centre of a room with a calm expression on their face. She couldn't find a name, and two-legged cat pokémon just turned up pictures of meowstic. Even the news about the lab breech seemed altered; there was no mention of an escapee. If it wasn't for that one image she could have made the whole thing up.

She printed off the picture in quiet and kept it under her bed. She meant to take it out and investigate further, but she never looked at it again.

 

 

-

 

 

The answers came in the most obvious place. For her biology course at college there was a textbook, and inside that textbook a record of the human attempts to clone the legendary creator Mew.  Out of the subjects only one had endured to adulthood, and the record ended there. The picture she had seen in elementary school was in the corner. This was the case study on why cloning pokémon from fossilized DNA went wrong with legendries.

Her interest was piqued again. And this time she had access to a library.

There wasn't much; the pokémon mostly appeared in footnotes as an example of how cloning could go wrong, a horror story within the scientific community that was half-myth. There was one book detailing some biological information and comparing it with Mew's, noting how the clone had superior destructive power but lacked the ability to create. The information -- blood types, destructive capacity -- the tests must have been demanding.

She remembered the twisted form and blurred face in the CCTV snapshot the police had showed her.

The most detailed was an essay on pokémon neurology. The focus was emotional intelligence, and where the border between human and pokémon became irreversibly blurred.

Whilst pokémon like alakazam have demonstrated huge machinelike intelligence and aptitude at communication, [1] no pokémon has yet demonstrated to have the full creative and emotional capacity of a human. The closest example was □□□□□□, a subject on which MRI scans detected a near-human brain reacting to the environment in a similar way. [2] □□□□□□ used its ingenuity to break out of captivity, killing three humans in the process. It has not been recaptured for further study since (circa □□/□□/□□□□).

Three humans and they had left her with a headache. She closed the book and decided to forget about the image which had haunted her childhood.

 

-

 

It was weeks later when looking at a study on heat resistance the pokémon re-emerged. There was a study of different pokémon skins and how they reacted to heat, and there amongst the tables stood the name of the pokémon she had burned onto her memory.

It confused her at first - a mistake in the typing? The pokémon she knew was fleshy and unique - did they culture some of its fur?

Three seconds and it hit her. Cost effectiveness. Live subjects. Use what's available.

According to the book the skin began to burn at 60°C. She ran out of the lecture and dropped the course.

She stopped thinking about the clone. Told herself she’d shaken off the ghost.

 

-

 

It started with nightmares. In church, only the clone hung on that cross, hands bleeding, face impossibly serene. Then there were frightening moments. The face, peering at her from the window, the body, stood at the end of her bed. She thought she imagined them.

One day, the figure at the end of her bed spoke.

“You didn’t tell your parents. That means something. Back then I was- I was weaker than I am now.”

She froze. Dreamingdreamingdreaming – and even if she wasn’t then how was a pokémon talking?

_I can hear you. You_ _’re all loud. Uncoordinated. I_ _’m here to thank you._

[D-don’t-]

 _I won_ _’t hurt you. I_ _’m better than you, you see. I don_ _’t hurt._ The pokémon’s blue eyes glowed faintly. Amelia’s heartbeat didn’t slow.

[Please just leav-]

 _Humans! All of you-_ The frustration (and something under that, something hopelessly bitterly lonely) bit through her mind. It hurt. She wailed. The mental presence retreated.

“I hate you all.” Their face was serene, like the martyr from her dreams. “I hate that you made me.”

She opened her mouth to reply (apologize?), but they were gone.

 

-

 

There was this special place she had inhabited since her parents’ divorce, a limbo between two separate, blossoming families. She belonged in neither.

She thought about that pokémon again. Thought about belonging and family and community.

There was an article in the news that week, a mugshot of the clone on the front page. Apparently they had killed one of their creators. A gun was found on the scene, but it wasn’t the way he was killed.


	5. mlp lyra/bonbon | old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first and last fluff written when i was 13 and a brony or smth
> 
> i hate christmas and i put a church in equestria so this fic is about as good as you would expect

"I'm not too sure about these," Lyra said, looking dubiously at the socks on her feet.

They were candy-striped, reminiscent of crisp Christmas mornings. It almost seemed like they had joviality sewn into their seams, leading to an overwhelming and intruding impression of overenthusiastic joy which seemed to invade every space they were present in. Their colours were obnoxious and intrusive, commanding attention the way newlyweds do with their pointed snogging, gleefully flaunting that they are in a happy relationship to the singles watching. If their colours had been less eye-burning and garish perhaps they would have been palatable, but the green, red and white were a hideous clash of a combination. 

"Oh come on," Bonbon insisted with a sly grin, "they're festive. Don't be a Scrooge." 

Lyra rolled her eyes. "I don't see you being 'festive'." 

"Well somebody has to, and you fit the bill. Anyway, you don't have time to change, let's go!" 

With a groan Lyra got up. Despite their hideous appearance at least they were warm and... comfy. Plush. Hopefully no one would notice that she was wearing socks in such poor taste (Rarity would be ashamed), but acting self-consciously would only draw attention to her odd attire. 

Bonbon shivered with the cold when they went outside, Lyra noted with glee. It was certainly brisk outside, with a cool crisp wind biting into anyone who stepped into its path. Many foals were bundled up so that you could barely see their glittering eyes through the layers of coats wrapped in scarves, like presents. As Lyra walked across the road one such foal tripped and fell, but because of the swaddling they weren't even hurt and simply rolled away down through layers of soft snow. Ponyville was always so innocent and cushioned from the troubles of the outside world that only slivers of suffering bled through cracks in the form of adverts for charity, and even these were quickly erased with a few bits donated to ease the suffering of those in poverty. 

The houses were shining with the rapture of Heartswarming cheer. Bright lines of lights overflowed off the roofs and onto the gardens which contained an alarming frequency of statues which were probably meant to depict happy ponies and hearts, but which the snow had robbed of all shape. Only the snowponies retained a semblance of their original structure, although they had been amplified by further snowfall throughout the day. One could tell when they had been made by the visibility of their ears, and in some extreme cases, the entire head. Some newborns had all of their details showing, these watched passers-by with unseeing coal eyes. 

Lyra kept walking even when they had reached the church, caught in a dream. Only Bonbon, with a small smile, stopped her from walking completely out of the town altogether and onto the icy canvass beyond their isolated corner of civilisation by placing a kind hoof on her shoulder. The jolt of reality hit Lyra like a pleasant breeze. In front of her the church glowed from within, stained glass windows projecting dapples of multi-coloured light onto the snow. 

Although her parents had been religious, many would even consider then strict, she had never really believed like they had. Still, there was solace to be found in community spirit and inside the church was undoubtedly warm. Within the cosy arched roof and smouldering candles echoed with the dignified steeples of her youth: Canterlot Cathedral, although there was something more heart-warming about this one. It was pretty and the quaint, more of a community centre than religious temple, and the room echoed with the mirth of fillies and colts, not to forget the goodwill of their elders. 

With Bonbon's glowing smile, Lyra was complete.

Her eyes didn't stray from Bonbon's as she walked to her pew, sweet-smelling wood with a glossy finish. Only when she reached there did her eyes stray from her beloved's and onto the hymn book. They raised their voices together to remember the founders of Equestria. 

The service was remarkably concise, the vicar not wanting to lose any of the crowd he had attracted for next year. The other Sundays were for the devout, this was for everyone. Lyra barely noticed this, however, because Rarity caught her eye five minutes in and the rest of the service became a silent conversation between the two of them. 

Rarity indicated to her hooves and looked at Lyra with one eyebrow raised, _really?_  

Lyra shrugged, _yeah, so what?_  

Rarity glared fiercely and indicated so dramatically some ponies sharing her pew stopped mid-song to look at her in confusion. _So what??! Those are hideous darling!_  

Lyra looked at Bonbon pointedly. _Her fault._  

Rarity sternly shook her head. _No excuse, you should know better._

Lyra indicated towards some tinsel. _They're festive._  

Rarity indicated towards her own tastefully festive clothes. _This is festive, darling._  

Lyra shrugged. _What can I do?_  

Rarity mimed taking socks off. _Off with those crimes against fashion. Off with them now._  

Lyra shook her head. _No way!_  

Rarity batted her eyelashes. _Just for me, please?_  

Lyra rolled her eyes and took them off. _Happy?_  

Rarity smiled charmingly. _Yes._  

They then joined in with the last verse of the last hymn, Hark the Herald Alicorns Sing, before leaving together. Lyra and Bonbon waited for Rarity outside. 

"I have a bone to pick with you," Rarity told Bonbon sternly, "It has come to my attention that you have been party to a crime against fashion." 

Bonbon giggled, "They were festive, officer of the fashion police!" 

They all giggled together and Lyra threw the socks in a bin whilst her partner was distracted. 

"Want to come to Pinkie's Heartswarming party? All are welcome and you'll see plenty of you friends there." Rarity asked. 

"Thanks, but we've got plans."  Bonbon replied. 

"Oh have we?" Lyra chimed playfully. 

"Oh yes we have," Bonbon replied, leaning in for a kiss. 

"Wouldn't want to interrupt that!" Rarity exclaimed, and sneaked off the scene so as not to disturb the happy couple. 

"Oh, the socks are gone." Bonbon lamented wistfully, "no matter, each pack came with six pairs." 

In the distance a huff was heard. Lyra groaned.


	6. wolfs rain | old & short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wolfs rain was my first anime. wrote this when i was about 10 but i still appreciate it in an odd way

# And The Rain

Summary: When he saw her again, after decades alone and then years of searching, she was nothing like he thought she'd be. One-shot, implied Kibax/Cheza

 

Kiba turned around an avenue in his human form; this world wasn't like the old one, not yet, anyway, but showing his true form in the middle of the city would still cause a stir. There would be pest control, guns, and eventually angry animal rights activists. Being a human was just so much simpler. 

He had met hid friends from the old world. They had been born here, and they're experiences had shaped them different ways. Toboe was an innocent young boy, having forgotten his true inner wolf, just starting school. Tsume lead a wild wolf pack. Hige lived as he had in the old one, shifting between forms and trying to eat as much as possible. Blue lived with her old man on a farm with his family. 

Maybe this was their paradise. Maybe those lives were all they ever wanted. 

They hadn't had any memories, they had come into this world with nothing at all of the old one. Kiba hadn't been born, he had just awoken in a back-alley with the rain falling on his face. 

He had sought the others out, until satisfied that they were happy here. He didn't think he could ever be happy here, maybe that was why he came here with his memories. 

He had no aim here, no impossible fabricated paradise to reach. 

He was alone, lonely in it. And there was one thought that filled his head with longing: _Cheza_. That word breathed onto his skin. He had to find her, she told him to. He was looking, but it was hard. How was he to know where she was? 

It rained so much where he was. Almost every day. 

There were a few flowers here and there in this new world. He figured it was half-way through; not apocalyptic or broken, but not new and innocent, either. Maybe it was the best place to be, maybe it just painfully reminded him of the old one. 

Sometimes his journey did seem faint and far away, like a dream or a whisper, maybe made-up. But he never really stopped looking for Cheza. 

And it was in that alley that he found her, partly, anyway. 

He had seen lunar flowers before, but not like this one. Not like the one trodden down by the concrete, but still visible with the rain dripping off it. 

There was no question about it; it was _her._  

Kiba wasn't sure what to think. He hadn't imagined meeting her like this. Not in a place poisoned with what the humans had done to it. Not her as a flower, not in a form where they couldn't communicate. 

Carefully he dug her up and carried her to a field outside the city where a thousand other flowers bloomed. He set her down besides them all and lay with her. 

"I finally found you," he told the flower. It gave no reply. 

And as it did so much here, it began to rain.


	7. sherlock | old & short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF I HATE FLUFF
> 
> when i was a wee tyke a friend whos hardcore into sherlock asked me to write a fic for a prompt. it was something about there being two people but only one set of footprints in the sand because one person was carrying the other idk
> 
> she stood behind me and kept correcting what i wrote so tbh shes coauthor and responsible for this. entirely.
> 
> i dont even like sherlock lol

The harsh sunlight burned the hair off the back of John’s neck as he sweated in the sun. A large, ripe, droplet of sweat rolled off Sherlock’s brow and was instantly absorbed by the dry, unyielding sand. 

John glared at said sand with pronounced distaste; it just wasn’t firm enough so his feet kept sinking through it. This meant he had to zigzag somewhat, giving him the appearance of a waddling duck. This was emphasized considerably by his hindering layers of clothing which looked entirely out of place in this dry hellhole. 

“Johhhhhnnnnnn,” Sherlock moaned, dragging his arms, half bent-over, “I’m hot, Johhhhhnnnn.” 

Sherlock had decided that one must suffer for fashion. Even in the unbearable heat he bore his coat and scarf with ridiculous, pompous, pride worthy of Mycroft. This scarf dragged in the sand, gathering dirt. John sighed; Mrs Hudson would not be pleased. 

“Try taking off your coat then, Sherlock.” John grunted through gritted teeth. Sometimes he was just a glorified toddler: impossible to deal with. 

Sherlock huffed dramatically and pulled up his coat collar. _Definitely trying to look cool,_ John deduced. A lecture would probably follow about the importance of maintaining a good public appearance and attracting clients _in this desert-like location_. So many people to observe his selfless sacrifice for the greater good of the pair of them! 

Suddenly Sherlock tripped over with a thump. There was quite a long pause, after which John began to feel concerned, before Sherlock annunciated a decisive, rather odd, ow. The blogger stood a short distance away, unmoving. He was tired and hot; Sherlock could get up for himself. 

Sherlock looked at him instructively. 

John remained unmoving. 

Sherlock reiterated his ow, slightly more effectively this time. 

John just looked at him. 

Sherlock let his most passionate ow rip, this constituted of a sound similar to a newborn kitten’s mewl. 

John caved in at that pathetic sound and moved until he was standing above Sherlock. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Can’t you tell?” Sherlock said brashly. He then realized he was meant to be injured and switched to an overly weak tone of voice. “I’m _injured_.” He passed, waiting for a reply. 

“So..?” 

“I’m _injured_. I can’t walk. You have to carry me.” 

“What?! No way! How do you know you’re injured, anyway? You haven’t even tried to walk!” 

Sherlock made a half-hearted attempt to look like he was trying to walk and failing. This was lifting himself an inch off the ground with his hands and then letting himself fall back again. His coat was getting filthy, something John was surprised Sherlock wasn’t bothered by. 

“I can’t walk.” John shot him an odd look. “Come on, John, I’m the brains and you’re the muscle. It’s your job to carry me around so I can do my deductions and get us both out of trouble. Sometimes literally. Logically, you should bear the physical strain so my superior brain can think us out of any dilemmas that arrive.” 

“I am NOT carrying you.” 

“Please?” Sherlock batted his eyelashes. 

“No.” 

“I’ll only put body parts in the bottom drawer of the fridge?” 

“No.” 

“You can’t just leave me here!” 

Sherlock’s manipulation made John laugh, causing his anger to dissipate. If Sherlock needed to be carried he would have to carry him. True, this was not an ordinary request, but sometimes their unconventional friendship demanded these things. Rolling his eyes, John stooped over. 

“Climb on. I’m not carrying you princess-style.” 

Sherlock wordlessly clambered onto John’s back. Sadly, his silence did not last long. 

“Your back is sweaty. It smells. You might want to work on that.” 

“Shut up, Sherlock, or I’ll buck you.” 

Sherlock was extremely heavy as he drove John like a packhorse through the two meters of sand before their feet met concrete once more. Their Sunday stroll on the London City Beach had been very overdramatic. Luckily it wasn’t too far to the nearest tube station, although John dreaded having to duck through archways. 

Then they saw the worst possible thing. 

Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson were lying on one of the deck chairs, absorbing the abnormal summer heat wave. Watching. Them. There were gleeful grins on their faces. John tried to defuse the situation, 

“It’s a bit informal for a staff outing here, isn’t it?” He said as though he was not giving Sherlock a piggyback. It did not work. 

“Ha!” Anderson exclaimed, “I knew it! That’ll be a fiver, Lestrade.” 

“Fine.” Lestrade grumbled, “I’m glad you guys finally came out.” 

“No! It’s not like that, he injured himself-“ 

“And you had to carry him?” Donovan giggled. 

To make matters worse, Sherlock chose this moment to slide off John’s back melodramatically, proceeding to walk a few paces as though to prove he was uninjured. 

“Sherlock, tell them!” 

“Tell them what, John?”


	8. tf2 | old & short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my old partner asked me to write this bc we used to play tf2 i was medic she was solider normally but sniper quite often too
> 
> i never finished it but um here
> 
> i wrote this before i became semifluent in german so if its awful i know it is but im not correcting it and also y'all should know i was really awful at tf2. really awful. i used to run away and hide

“Heal me damn you!” the Demoman shouted, “MEDIC!” 

“See you later, mein Freund,” the Medic shouted, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the Soldier and Demoman he’d been healing. 

“What? Come back here Doc!” the Soldier replied angrily, “MEDIC! I need to be healed!” a few seconds later he was blasted to pieces by an enemy demoman.

 Ignoring his friend’s pleas the Medic raced back to base, followed by an enemy pyro. He just managed to get inside before they caught up with him. Hastily, he used the medicine cabinet even though most of his health had returned to him by then. The respawned Soldier looked at him skeptically, 

“Come on Doc, we need you out there. You can’t keep running away from just a scratch.” the Soldier scolded, “Come on! Go go go! Charge!” 

He then ran out, expecting the Medic to follow him as he normally would have, but instead the Medic stayed at base looking miserable. As the second fastest runner he could probably catch him up quickly, but he was just more worried he’d let his teammate down, that, and… 

That soldier had no idea what he went through, none at all! Charging into the heat of battle, recklessly exposing them both to bullets, urgh it was insufferable. Then he’d be killed, and just when his übercharge was almost full… he could heal the Soldier, but his own health regeneration was annoyingly slow and it took practically nothing to kill him. 

Lost deep in thought in suddenly heard an angry voice behind him, 

“Where were you Doc?” the respawned Soldier shouted, “I’m pretty sure you weren’t there!” 

“…sorry,” he muttered, “I think I am going to go heal some other people now, okay?” 

“Fine, just tell me next time Doc,” the Soldier said, rushing outside. 

Sighing, the Medic slumped over. He had to get out there, but he couldn’t think of whom else to heal. If he stayed here he’d become unpopular with his teammates… 

“Hey, you there,” the Medic turned around suddenly to see the Sniper behind him, looking at him, “Follow me Doc, I could use some overhealing so headshots don’t kill me.” 

The Medic wondered why the Sniper would invite him to follow him, he’d be pretty useless healing the Sniper, and any other teammates would need him more. Still, he’d been invited, and it was better than nothing. Besides, the sniper would hang around out of danger, right? 

He switched from crossbow to medigun and started healing the Sniper, 

“Danke, sounds like a plan, mein Freund,” he replied gratefully, following the Sniper outside. They both climbed over some crates onto a high-up point from which they could see everything. The Medic couldn’t help but notice how disjointed the teams were, they might be on the same side but he was just about the only team player, actually helping others. 

“Now, Doc,” the Sniper said to the medic while aiming with his sniper rifle, “Make sure ya keep an eye out for spooks, they target me a lot.” 

“Ja, vill do,” the Medic replied, casting his gaze out over the battlefield. He felt a guilty twinge when he saw that the soldier was on low health, he switched to crossbow and attempted to heal him with that. Of course he didn’t have the eagle eye of the Sniper and missed. Sighing, he changed weapons back to medigun and kept building up übercharge. 

“Why do ya always run away from battle, Doc?” the Sniper asked him in a very casual way, without even turning to face him. 

The Medic flinched and asked himself the same question. Why did he always run away? Eventually he answered, 

“I guess ich hasse dying,” he replied eventually, “zink about it, ja? We depend on a machine; it could end at any moment. Soon someone on der blau team vill figure it out and destroy ours und dann we vill die.” 

“They’d never destroy ours, Doc,” the Sniper said, “It’s an unspoken agreement, if they took out ours we’d take out theirs. No one really cares about winning, at the end of the day we just want out money.” 

“Every time I die it gives me just one more taste of vhat’s to come,” the Medic replied gloomily, “I’d rather not die.” 

“Isn’t it worth more to help out people even if ya die? You’ll be reborn anyway. As I see it we’ve got both the best and worse contract we can possibly have. On one hand, eternal life and good pay, on the other we’re trapped here forever. I doubt they’d accept a resignation if you’re having second thoughts, so better just make the most of things,” the Sniper finished. 

“Very vell,” the Medic admitted, “I see your point; I had better keep up my end of the team and make sure I-” 

The Medic was cut off by being headshotted by the blu Sniper, 

“Sorry there nurse, I mistook ya for an actual threat!" he called over, grinning. 

The red Sniper proceeded to headshot him straight back while he was there shouting. Laughing, he called back, 

“Headshot, ya blind-eyed bastard!"

 

-

 

“Urgh,” the Medic muttered, standing up. He had a slight headache from the respawn, but apart from that he was fine. 

“I killed the guy that killed you,” the Sniper told him, standing over him, “But then some spook bastard backstabbed me.” 

“Hah,” the Medic laughed at that, “Vell thanks for the advice, anyvay.” 

“Go go go!” the Soldier called, glancing at the Medic. 

With a small smile the Medic switched to the medigun and began to heal him, 

“Danke!” He called over his shoulder to the Sniper.

“Any time mate,” the Sniper replied.


	9. pmd | old & short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i really liked it at the time of writing but some Horrible Fuck left this incredibly negative comment on ff.net which destroyed my self-esteem so um. yea i don't like it now but it feels important - kind of represents a lot of my feelings at the time etc.
> 
> i like the concept and would like to rewrite someday i have a lot of pokémon mystery dungeon feels
> 
> this is 13yo with no friends and undiagnosed untreated depression tier angst. i mean at this point i had a series of one-shots titled /emotions/. awful.

# With or Without Her

## Alternative ending to PMD2

 

 

He saw it forever, captured in his mind with tormenting clarity. She was there dying again and again. But she didn't even die, she was gone. She had never been. Delta would never exist, no one would ever get a chance to feel her kindness touch them. As she disappeared, the same words,

"It's for the best." 

Deception, she hadn't ever trusted him enough to tell him she'd disappear. And now he had to live, without her. She slowly faded, and he wasn't even sure whether it pained her or not. He hoped it didn't, but part of him wanted it to. He hated her for leaving him. He was helpless, all of his life he had leaned on her. She had been there, giving him endless support. Without her, he was nothing. 

No one ever knew how long he just stood there, looking at the place she had been. Even when he started to make his way back he couldn't bring himself to fight Pokémon, it was a long journey back without her. He didn't only wish she was there, he needed her. Eventually he managed to get lucky and brave his way through the Hidden Land. 

It just hurt more, leaving Delta's final resting place. It was like a part of her was left behind when she went, a thin residue of memories almost equalling to life coating the rocky path. Leaving there, without her, just cruelly reminded him that he'd never get her back. That she'd never be like that again, even if she was born in this world. They'd never meet; she'd never go to the Hidden Land. 

But how hidden was it, really? It was there, a half-forgotten memory of a legend, that a few knew with clarity of its existence. The reason; there was nothing there. It was empty, there was no point in going there. Especially without her. As he rode back on Lapras's back the great weight of the unspoken plunged them into feeling so separate, and not just by land and water. 

It reminded him of her. 

The land, hidden and hardly thought of for so long. Lost in the Seas of Time. No one cared until for a second it was plunged into the spotlight. It was needed, used, and then thrown back into the mists of lost memory. 

She wasn't there, she never had been. And now he had to live without her. 

The pain could have been numbed with time, if it weren't for the endless nightmares, him holding her hand and feeling her slip through his fingers. She would never come back. And he would never get a life outside her. She had made him who he was, she was his other half. Without her he felt different. Small, scared and useless. 

The guild distanced themselves, giving him room to his grief. He saw right through them; they were scared of him, of what he had become. All they had saw of him was him with her, alone he was just weak. So, when he broke down and cried, there was no one to comfort him without her. 

He had other dreams too, of Grovyle telling him truths. Perhaps Grovyle's imprint was reaching him, perhaps this was in his head. All he cared about were the cruel, cruel words that reminded him so much of what he'd lost:

 

***

 

_"Of course you're sad, I was too. But I'm different from you, I had it tough from an early age. I was born alone in the darkness, she was too. We were both losing ourselves to it when we met. We supported each other and together we were strong. I can carry on without her, I can use the strength just being with her gave me._

_"When we were together everything was perfect. We fought the darkness personally, but between us there was an unspoken promise that we'd both keep it inside us. The darkness drained us, it made us both break down and cry and then the other comfort them when inside they were breaking apart, but we loved it. It was part of us, the black sky made us who we were. If it were just us two in the world we would have left it. I alone, weak and selfish, would have left it. She alone, with no reason to live, would have left it._

_"But together we saw the true beauty of the darkness. Everyone could still live, appreciate what little they had and forge bonds with people that if they broke they would leave you broken. We had no choice, but we both knew it was right. In your spoilt world you can brave it alone and you never appreciate the little spider web of light that hold you together. Of course you don't need one, you don't even need to pair up to survive. The light brims around you, and you are all fine._

_"But in the dark, tough future where we lived it was all different. We both loved it, really, even though we fought to stop it. That was for those who we fought against, we wanted to save the Pokémon that were incapable of supporting each other. In your world you can be a loner and survive, but in mine you can't._

_"When I first came to your world, I felt so much like crying. But I was strong because of what Delta had given me. I could make it, to doom the darkness we loved and loathed. Eventually, when I found out who the Vulpix really was I wondered why I didn't spot it… and eventually I realized._

_"She wasn't my Delta, she was yours. My Delta was an outgoing positive person, always supporting and moving forward, the leader. Then I realized she had been forced into that by the darkness we shared. It had forced her to adapt, shaping her into the person I love. Your Delta…_

_"She was quite, withdrawn, innocent. She had taken my role in our partnership, the one who rarely talked who was just there constantly supporting, ready to catch them when they fall. I wonder if she was always like that inside, worrying that she was dragging me down._

_"That sunset on the cliff… that was why I didn't try to become her friend again. She wasn't the same, and this Delta needed someone like you. I, on my own, didn't mind dying without her. I just wish we could have been together for one last night, dancing in the beautiful darkness, a moment that could last forever."_

 

***

 

He couldn't take it. The monotonous blaze of meaningless grey days and the painful loss at night. Grovyle had been right, there was so much light around him he was swimming in it. It just reminded him of the light she could have brought to his life if there had been any darkness. 

A month after she had gone he went to the beach, broke down and cried. Bidoof came and comforted him, the moved away, uncomfortable. He stood up and went on. 

He fought on, dismissed all of the team members and graduated alone. He alone couldn't make a team, but he still continued Team Future. He still remembered the day Delta had thought of that name; 

## "We're the future of rescue teams! The rising stars!" 

It shouldn't be called that. It should be called Parallel Future, the place she was now. But he kept that name, like a piece of her, trapped in a time paradox. He evolved, into the Luxray he'd always wanted to be. But there was something missing, her. 

When the nightmare came, and everyone else failed, he went in there and fought it, without her. He felt the nightmare's icy grip crushing his heart broken by years without her. It was only the memory of the Vulpix that forced him to continue. Eventually he lay down, if only to rest, and the star on the edge of his tail plunged him into another memory, 

" Stardust, you're the star. No matter what you'll always come out on top, flying high. But huge losses and change… they affect you. You could come crashing down, but I don't care because I'll always be there, to catch you when you fall. You can drop any time, but I'll be there to help you soar back up again. You're fine as long as you have targets, things to achieve." 

Always… 

He had come down, no one had caught him, and now him was stuck on the ground, limited and useless. The crash had ripped him apart. He was broken, without her, and he wanted her back so badly. 

He fought on. 

He found his way to the dark, dark crater and fought Darkrai. But he never told anyone and no one ever knew… as he saw Darkrai disappearing he felt something else drop inside of him. He had gotten rid of what could be the last darkness. He knelt down and wept with what was mistaken for exhaustion. 

There was something else. As the last dark mist was vanquished, seeing Stardust's vulnerability it targeted him, putting an idea into his brain he had never even considered before. The darkness… 

Why had they all feared it? It would make them better people, force them to open up, bond, and forge their own small spider webs of light. Yes, it would be better for all of them. 

First he found something that looked like the stairway to the sky. He climbed it, but freezing when he saw a Vulpix. He collapsed and wept, allowing himself to be fainted. Now haunting absolution hung over him. He would do it. 

When he said he was going back to the Hidden Land, they all thought it was to find closure for her. They let him, even encouraged him. Lapras saw what he would do in her eyes, but all she said to him was, 

"It's your choice to destroy everything Delta ever worked for." 

He didn't reply, even though her words hurt him. He just rode her and fought back through the hidden land, thinking about the Vulpix that had reminded him so much of her. With her, he would have laughed. Without her, it drove him insane. 

Finally he reached the peak, where Dialga stood looking at him 

"I SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOU. I  FEEL YOUR PAIN, BUT I WON'T…" 

A huge thunderbolt, called by him, broke the heavens in two and hit one of the time gears in place. It burned into black dust. Immediately Dialga broke into sobs, writhing on the floor. Stardust watched the world freeze around him. Eventually Primal Dialga stood up and looked at him.

"HOW YOU MUST OF LOVED DELTA." 

Only at that point did Stardust turn away. As he headed back his only thoughts were, 

_Grovyle is right. The darkness is beautiful._

_I can't wait to see Delta again._

 

***

 

He had waited, hundreds of years, for this moment. He had found it strange that in this world Delta was never a human, that she had always been a Vulpix. He had extended his life with broken promises, Joy Seeds and Sitrus berries just to see this. And one other thing. 

Alone, in a dark cave, a Vulpix broke out of her egg. She looked at Stardust as though she knew him, but couldn't quite remember, then turned away and crawled away towards the entrance of the cave. She crawled towards the light. 

With tears in his eyes, for what he had done and become, he turned away and ran to see another birth. He reached there too late, the Treecko was already so alone, clambering up trees as though to reach something that wasn't there. 

Of course he cried. The lonely births… the realization that now, while she existed, she wasn't his. She was Grovyle's. The darkness was beautiful, heartbreakingly so, but it was sorrowful too. And seeing Delta born, craving for light, that was enough for him to want to change. Slowly he looked around for a pink face, one that he had hardly known before… 

Of course he became a target. Sleepless nights with days filled with meaning. But eventually he undid it, and wept, for dying like Delta did, without her.

 

***

 

The Shinx sat on the beach, crying. He missed her so much… Bidoof came and comforted him, but soon left such was the weight of what he cried for. He saw a mirage of her before his eyes, a vapour-like memory. He reached it and collided with her! 

"Stardust…" She looked at him with her soulful eyes. 

He couldn't speak. He just embraced her and wished never to spend another hour without her. 

Dialga didn't mention what he would have done. He didn't say that that was why he had given Delta back, and solved the paradox. He hoped Stardust would now never know of the beauty of darkness and what he would have been forced to do by his love for her. 

Time passed together. They fought, they graduated, the defeated Darkri. For him it was almost a haze now she was there. Everything was out of focus but her, who he truly believed in. So when they were older, so very old, she asked him if he'd do one last thing for her. 

It took them days to reach the forest, but those were nothing  to them. On the way there they saw a Celebi flitting through the trees. She was green, time had taken her shininess too. The Celebi's eyes held to recognition of them. That was the first thing Delta cried about that day. 

Further in, at the heart, they saw a tiny egg crack. A Treecko came out, beautifully complete, and he looked at Delta, almost like he knew something was lost, but that he was too innocent to comprehend what. Then she knew what Grovyle had felt like to have lost her, and she cried again. 

He led the way back, but could never forget the difference innocence had made to the Treecko's eyes. Eventually Delta told him what she had kept back from him all of these years, 

"I-I remember all of my time with Grovyle from when Dialga returned me. And now he's just like I was with him…" 

And suddenly why she was more outgoing, more of a leader dawned on him. He looked at her, then briefly considered the beautiful darkness separating them. Finally, after all of those years he saw straight through her. 

And like she had disappeared in his dire hours of need, he turned away.


	10. pmd time gear | old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is time gear, the second multichapter thing i wrote. i was young etc etc
> 
> i like some of the themes altho i incorporated most of the good ones into chiaroscuro ( http://archiveofourown.org/series/286278 ) which was effectively a rewrite of this (or would have become if i had finished it)
> 
> it gets really downhill towards the end when it shifts into first person, you have been warned

# Time Gear

*****

**Sunrise**                                                        

 

In the darkness, alone, in the heart of a dead forest twisted by years without time, an egg began to crack. The parents of the egg were nowhere to be found, but that was common in this darkness. Rarely did it affect them little enough that they would want to see their offspring and to raise them, some stayed and tried to help their children to see the pale light in the world but more fled.

 

A Treecko gave a soft cry and poked his small head out of the eggshell. Briefly he looked around, wondering where the parents that nature demanded were there hid, before he yawned, stretching his arms slightly. He settled down, exhausted, before he heard the sound of twigs snapping.

 

As gifted with the will to live as any he scurried up a tree, although he was very weak. Many said that in the darkness everything learned younger, everything was stronger. Perhaps many had come before him in that clearing only to be eaten by whatever he had heard; maybe he was the one evolutionary success.

 

Safe in the tree he settled down to sleep; not knowing that in the “morning” there would be no sun to wake him.

 

Quietly a pink Celebi watched him, her eyes shining with what could just be hope.

 

 

**Chapter 1**

 

Grovyle ran through the gloomy forest, his eyes well-adjusted to the darkness. He paused momentarily in his stride, turning around to check if Celebi was behind him. He could hear that there was something chasing him, but unsure as he was about whether it was friend or foe he couldn’t halt without risk.

 

“Celebi?” he called out into the gloom, “Are you there?”

 

When there was no reply he sped up, desperately hoping it wasn’t Dusknoir. Or a Sableye. Or a hostile Pokémon. In fact there was very little it could be that wouldn’t be dangerous. Now that he knew it wasn’t Celebi he just hoped whatever pursued him was weak enough for him to defeat.

 

“Wait!” an out-of-breath voice called, “Grovyle!”

 

He wasn’t tired although whatever called out to him seemed to be. He stopped and turned to face his pursuer. He blinked. Before him stood… a human. He knew what they were as much as the next Pokémon but he’d never seen one before, only heard rumours that one had come through, alone, from some sort of dimensional anomaly.

 

The one who stood before him was female. She had green eyes and long brown hair, but she seemed far less strong than him by her panting. Waving a hand in his direction, indicating he shouldn’t run, she wheezed,

 

“My name’s Delta. Celebi told me to find you, I can… see stuff. Together we can,” her eyes met his, showing him her desperation, “end this. This darkness.”

 

She came too late, Grovyle had heard it spoken a thousand times that if the darkness was reversed he would die. Celebi would die. They would all die, but worse than that, they would all have never existed. Even the heroes who had reversed it would be forgotten; that kind of thankless job wasn’t one Grovyle looked forward to. Celebi was always trying to help him see things her way but he refused, he would be her friend and her ally but the darkness had to stay.

 

“What does Celebi want?” he asked her, ignoring the end of her sentence, “Surely she can find me herself?”

 

For a second he laughed that his time-travelling lifelong friend would be captured. She could always teleport away, always… and yet with the human before him he felt deeply worried for her.

 

“She is fine, hiding but fine. She couldn’t risk coming out here to warn you since she’s being tailed but she told me to tell you that Dialga has finally made the connection between you and her. Dusknoir will have sent a pack of Sableye out to find you already.”

 

“What?” Grovyle snapped, annoyed and very tense. He had been careful never to involve himself with that side of Celebi, her resisting side, but it looked like it hadn’t mattered in the end. She had warned him to distance himself from her but he had needed to stay close. Without her he would have been alone and in this world that meant succumbing to the darkness like so many he had seen had.

 

“You have to run.” Delta stepped towards him, the time she had spent stationary had helped her recover her strength, “I should come too. I’m sure if they hadn’t figured out my relationship with Celebi yet they will have now. Plus I’m human, that’s enough to make them want to kill me.”

 

“Fine.” Grovyle muttered, running and not caring to check whether or not Delta was following. He wasn’t sure whether to trust her or not, but running never hurt in this dark world.

 

“Wait for me!” she cried out. When he didn’t halt or slow she sighed and started to follow him, a long gap between them.

 

Glad for the company, even though he didn’t show it, Grovyle slowed slightly.

 

-

 

“Where is he?” Dusknoir snarled, preparing to release another bolt of energy on the exhausted Celebi.

 

“He’s not important,” she spat, wishing she had the energy to teleport, “he’s just a friend. He knows nothing; he doesn’t even want to end the darkness.”

 

“Oh, so he doesn’t want to die?” Dusknoir released the shadow ball, it hit Celebi and she moaned almost inaudibly, “He doesn’t want to kill all of us?  You can’t fool me; you wouldn’t have taken an interest in him if he wasn’t important.”

 

“I had a plan, once,” she sighed, “I was going to use him to end your darkness. It didn’t work out, I’m not like you; I don’t force people to do things they don’t want to. He’s just a friend now, that’s all, a friend.”

 

“And the human?” Celebi didn’t reply. Dusknoir stepped away from her, turning to face his Sableye so that she couldn’t hear his whispered words, “We can’t hold her for much longer, soon she’ll have enough energy to teleport away,” he told the Sableye.

 

“We could always kill her, sir-“ the Sableye was cut off by a sharp slap across the face.

 

“Idiot!” Dusknoir roared, “She’s important to Master Dialga, as well as our only lead on any resistance organization, no matter how fragmented and disorganized it may be we still need an insight!” realizing that Celebi could hear him he cursed under his breath, “Idiot Sableye. We’ll just have to let her go and bring her in when we have more leads. Follow her when she breaks out. And find them. The Grovyle and the human.”

 

“What shall we do with them when we find them?” the Sableye whispered.

 

“Bring them in,” Dusknoir called over his shoulder, not caring whether Celebi heard him or not. A

Pack of Sableye scurried off, ready to track Grovyle and Delta down no matter what the cost.

 

-

 

“How do we know we’re running in the right direction?” Grovyle asked Delta, pausing slightly in his sprint.

 

“We’re running into the forest, at the centre we should be the most hidden.” She replied, struggling to keep up with him.

 

“But what if Dusknoir’s running from the opposite end? We could be running towards him!” Grovyle stopped, breathing hard.

 

“Dialga’s main fortress is at the end we ran from. I doubt it.” She stopped next to him, clutching a stitch in her side.

 

“And I have to take your word for it?”

 

“Trust me,” she laughed, “It’ll be easier that way. We should still rest here, though.”

 

Grovyle nodded to her and quickly climbed onto a low-hanging tree branch where he sat back for a while. The trees had no leaves to speak of like that which was on his head, they weren’t even brown but instead a dull grey. Even wood was dead, not soft like dry wood, but hard as stone. The barren branches themselves were twisted into impossible shapes, as though writhing in agony since there was no light to grow towards even if they had been alive.

 

Delta rested at the bottom of the tree on the solid water-parched ground. No rain had fallen since the fall of Temporal Tower which had strangled the tree and compacted the ground. In some places it was just hard like it was under her but in others it was in thin layers and would collapse like pitfall traps. The worst was when huge tremors opened and swallowed up Pokémon, then just staying there, never healing over, the ultimate statement of the broken landscape.

 

If Grovyle and Delta hadn’t always lived in it they would have gone insane. After living in it alone for years many did succumb to the darkness, but the Pokémon that bonded with others to survive managed to forge their own light. Even then, ultimately, it was a hopeless battle with a foe that could never be defeated and the eventual brokenness could only ever be delayed.

 

Grovyle was living on borrowed time.

 

Nearby the duo a twig snapped. Instantly on his guard, Grovyle jumped down, looking for an escape route. Delta jumped up beside him, watching him closely so she could mimic his every move. When Grovyle sprang into a tree she attempted to climb to meet him, but couldn’t make it. He ran off without looking back, perhaps a bad habit after living years alone or with a companion that could look after herself.

 

“Grovyle!” she shouted, fear overcoming her, “What about me?”

 

He halted, looking back at her. This human could easily be one of Dialga’s agents, probably a shape shifter. That was far more likely than any other alternative, but he still hesitated in his flight. If she was an agent she wouldn’t be harmed, but if she was really sent by Celebi he had everything to lose. While Celebi tried to let him know nothing for his safety and he didn’t make an effort to learn about the resistance movement, there were a lot of Pokémon that would die if he let a member be captured. But what was he thinking? The darkness, the impenetrable darkness… if it was lifted surely he would die? They would all die, the resistance shouldn’t matter to him.

 

He jumped from tree to tree back towards her, landing next to her. To his surprise the Pokémon that had been about to attack her weren’t even lead by Dusknoir, just a pack of Sableye. He withdrew a foe-hold-orb from the pouch he wore around his neck, paralyzing his foes.

 

“Come on,” he told Delta, “If we attack them the paralysis will wear off.”

 

Even when she ran he had trouble leaving the Sableye to that terrible fate, being frozen in a dark forest until they starved to death. Shuddering when they were further away he went back and mobilized them again, but by that time it would take them too long to find them again. They would come back with their leader.

 

Hoping against hope not to have to ever meet Dusknoir, Grovyle raced back to where Delta was, although he still wasn’t sure whether she was an agent of Dialga or not. Even if she was, he wasn’t worth following. This time Delta lead the way although she seemed to know it disturbingly well.

 

At one point along their journey she reached out and touched a tree. Her body went tense, her eyes closed and a barely noticeable tremor ran through it.

 

“Left.” She murmured so quietly that Grovyle could barely hear her, “Time Gear… Treeshroud Forest.”

 

Turning to the confused Grovyle, Delta started walking again. For a while he just stayed where had been standing, before racing after her to catch up.

 

“What was that?” he hissed, glaring at her, “Time Gear? Treeshroud Forest?”

 

“I… I see things sometimes.” Delta fumbled over her words, “Celebi called it the Dimensional Scream ability, something I picked up when I came through to this dimension. I get visions, of a sort anyway, relating to finding these things that if found and used in the past… could… could prevent this future. They’re called Time Gears and this is Treeshroud Forest. Or it was, before the darkness fell and it was renamed.”

 

“So what?” Grovyle snapped, “You’re crazy, delusional and we’re not even escaping. We’re just going towards something that will eventually stop us all from ever existing.” At least she’s not an agent, was his afterthought, she’d come up with a better lie if she was.

 

“No she’s not crazy, Grovyle,” a new voice, feminine and cheerful chimed in. Delta and Grovyle turned around quickly to see the source and found themselves faced with Celebi, “Although it is good to see you two together.”

 

“Where were you?” Grovyle demanded, “I haven’t seen you for days.”

 

“Does it really matter?” Celebi replied, “Now come on Delta, lead the way. We have to find that Time Gear. Well, actually rather you two do. I’ve got to work on the Passage of Time, just thought I’d pop by and give out some encouragement.” She winked, “Bye then! Well actually there is one last thing.” She turned to look at Grovyle specifically, forcing eye contact. “Why don’t you want to end the darkness?”

 

“We’ll all never have been born.” He whispered back, looking at his feet.

 

“When you die, I die and Delta dies,” Celebi shot back, “Who will remember that you have been born? It will be the same. You’d do better to fight for a cause, even if you’ll never get credit for it.”

 

“Fine. I’ll fight it.” While Grovyle wasn’t entirely sincere, Celebi could tell he was winning him over. Soon he’d fight with the passion they did.

 

“Well nice chatting to you!” with a puff of pale pink smoke, Celebi was gone.

 

Grovyle turned to Delta for an indication of which way to turn.

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

The crimson angry eyes of Dialga glared out of the wreckage of Temporal Tower. Dusknoir stood before him, frail in comparison to his massive frame.

 

“Yes, we’ve found out about Celebi’s latest work. No, not really a threat,” Dusknoir spoke quietly as though not to disturb all of the ghosts that could inhabit the ruins, “We’d still like to allocate the most resources on her, however. She’s still the only real Pokémon that could stand a chance against us, although even then only with some sort of army. We have information that she has several followers; we shouldn’t take her down until we can take them all. If even that.”

 

Dialga roared his reply. He then nodded at Dusknoir, although his eyes still held a certain wild lack of control which haunted the place.

 

“Isn’t it better to have a resistance we know about, one that lives under our feet, so to speak, one we could crush at any moment, rather than annihilating it? This way no new one will spring up, we are in absolute control.”

 

As thought to affirm this, Dialga growled and rose up out of the ground.

 

“I know Celebi could do some damage, but we can counter anything she could do, if we fall because of her the responsibility will lie with me alone. Unless incompetent Sableye have let me down yet again.”

 

This time when Dialga growled a reply it was words rather than raw rage which only Dusknoir could translate,

 

“Don’t trust her,” he snarled, “Do not leave it too late.” Then with a crash as yet more of the ruined tower fell, he teleported away to somewhere he couldn’t be followed to.

 

-

 

“There it is,” Grovyle said, feeling stupid as he stated the blaringly obvious. The Time Gear was broken, the mesh it had rested on crippled. He could just imagine it in its glory, glowing. Looking at it now strengthened his new resolve to lift the darkness slightly, although if he had seen it before the feeling would have been greater.

 

“It’s broken,” Delta muttered, sounding very disappointed, “This makes things harder.” She tried to pick up a piece, but when her fingers touched it the Time Gear dissolved into dust. How it had deteriorated when there had been no wind or weather it was impossible to tell, probably something to do with it being linked to the current state of the world.

 

“Makes what harder?” Grovyle asked, “What’s your plan, then? Celebi and you behind my back?”

 

“It’s not like that,” she replied, “Just an idea I had. One backed up by research, but no plan yet. Celebi knows I have this abstract idea, but I haven’t told her, I think she figured some of it out herself.”

 

“And? What is it?” Grovyle snapped, impatient and annoyed that she had kept this from him.

 

“I read somewhere that the planet’s paralysis could have been prevented by taking the Time Gears to Temporal Tower, I just thought somehow Celebi could take up back and we could bring them from here. But maybe we could find them there… I’m not sure if it would work, but it’s something. I don’t even know who’d go back, I wouldn’t fit in.” suddenly Delta averted her eyes.

 

“That’s my role, isn’t it?” suddenly his anger abated, dulled by the thought that he could be useful, “That’s why Celebi came for me when I was younger and helped me.”

 

“As I’ve said before, I’m not sure if she knew the plan or not. I didn’t tell her, but she could have had a similar idea in mind.”

 

So Celebi brought us together, Grovyle thought, her to find the Time Gears now so I could go back into the past and place them in Temporal Tower.

 

For some reason the fact that Celebi could have only befriended him so that she could use him to end the darkness chilled Grovyle to the bone. His one friend, always seeming so cheerful and light-hearted, could she be the centre of a rebellion? Did she have the ruthlessness she’d need to succeed? The more he thought about it the more it all fell into place. He wondered if he could still trust her.

 

Reaching down he tried, like Delta, to pick up a piece of Time Gear. It felt smooth under his touch before dissolving, but before long all he was left with was a handful of dust. He let it sprinkle through his fingers, wondering why no dew fell when it did.

 

“So… if it comes to that…” Delta seemed uncertain how to word what she wanted to ask. After a while more of struggling with her words eventually she hastily spat out, “If it works you’ll do it?”

 

“Do I have a choice?” Grovyle smiled, “Of course I will.” But not for you, he added in his head, for the Pokémon who endure this darkness. “Do you have any hints on the locations of the other Time Gears?”

 

“Celebi told me that they’re many, many Time Gears but only four were essential to halt Temporal Tower’s collapse. For some reason my Dimensional Screams only seem to be related to those four, at least according to Celebi. We should just set out and see where my ability takes us. Right now I’m seeing this cave…” Delta faltered, “I think it’s that way. There’s … this sand and desert… it’s hard to explain.”

 

“Nice to know you have a concrete plan,” Grovyle laughed in reply, “lead the way then. Let’s pace ourselves this time, we have a long way to go and I’m sure we’ll run into trouble on the way. Still, not too slowly, we still have Dusknoir to contend with.”

 

“Follow me then,” she replied, her body sagging with the relief that Grovyle was definitely coming, that he trusted her.

 

At a slow but steady pace the pair began to walk through the forest once more, heading an angle slightly different to the one they had come from. There was a silence between them- although not a happy one. Everything in the darkness had endured too much lonely silence for it to ever be comfortable; it just brought back bad memories. Any awkward chatter was better, but Grovyle couldn’t think of anything to say and Delta seemed absorbed in her thoughts.

 

Since there was no sun to sink so they would know it was evening, they kept walking for a very long time, each too stubborn to admit their exhaustion. When they were on the edge of the forest Grovyle finally, grudgingly, broke the silence,

 

“We should rest here, on the edge of the forest. We need to sleep or we’ll be too tired to continue.”

 

“Yes, in the forest where we have shelter.” Delta nodded vaguely, still deep in thought, “Wake me up when you wake up.”

 

As though avoiding conversation, Delta curled up on the ground abruptly, although even after the few minutes Grovyle then spent watching her she didn’t seem to be sleeping- her muscles were too tense. Sighing, he scurried up a tree and looked at the black sky, wondering if the lights in the sky Celebi had spoken of really existed. After a while he dozed off.

 

Later he awoke refreshed, although there was no way of telling how long he had slept. Delta was in the same position on the floor, as tense as ever. He yawned.

 

“So you’re awake now,” Delta stated, alerted by his yawn, “Do you have any food? I’m hungry.” After the rest they’d enjoyed –or at least one of them had- Delta seemed far less abrupt and tired, now talking to Grovyle in a kinder, more companionable, way.

 

“Not much,” he replied as he tossed her an apple and picked one for himself out of the bag over his shoulder, “We should try stopping by a Mystery Dungeon if we see one, they’re the only place to really get food.” Why did I tell her that? He asked himself, everything knows that here.

 

“What do you have in that bag then?”

 

“One more apple,” he peered inside, grimacing, “One oran berry, two pecha, an evasion orb, an escape orb, a sleep seed and a pass scarf. Not much, I’m afraid; it certainly won’t last us very long or aid us very much if we do need to take on a Dungeon.”

 

“And we will need to take one on,” she mused, “for food even if one doesn’t present itself, although I’ve seen a few in my visions. I was hoping to avoid them, you see,” Delta looked down at her fists and clenched them, “I’m a bit of a burden when it comes to fighting. In a Mystery Dungeon I’m useless. Can’t fight and the slightest thing mortally wounds me, I’ve avoided them all my life and only gone in one or twice with Celebi because she can teleport me away from harm. If we find one I have no idea what we’ll do.”

 

“Well…” for a moment Grovyle was speechless, realizing the huge burden she would be. After a few awkward minutes he pulled himself together, “I have a pass scarf, take that. It means all of the attacks that hit you are passed to Pokémon near you; it’s really good for solo travellers. It tends to make you hungrier, for some reason, but we’ll pick up all food we see.”

 

“I can’t use that, it’ll probably pass at least half of the attacks onto you…” she trailed off, still staring at her fists guiltily.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” he reassured her, “I’m strong, and I can take it. If I’m in trouble you can throw an oran berry at me or something. I’m guessing you don’t fight, either?”

 

“No,” Delta replied, miserable. Suddenly she perked up, looking at him for the first time in ages, “but I can throw gravelrocks!”

They laughed at that, and then with just a few more words exchanged, started walking again.

 

-

 

Celebi sat alone, in the forest grove where she had first seen Grovyle, thinking about him. She wondered again why she had noticed him in the first place, one egg among rocks of similar hues, and why she had followed him. Even if she followed him because she had stubbornly clutched at an inkling of the plan she had today that wouldn’t explain why she had only talked to him later, letting him grow up in the darkness alone.

 

Maybe she had wanted him to know what it was like.

 

It could have been what she needed, someone who truly understood the darkness as opposed to someone who she had shown light from an early age. Once the light had been seen there was no going back, she knew that now, the darkness was intolerable in comparison, but in some ways more endurable. At least then you knew there was light. Had Grovyle even ever seen light?

 

Delta had been something else entirely, Celebi mused, she had practically been sent like a request, probably from Arceus or maybe Palkia in some alternate dimension. Maybe they had travelled to the future like Celebi had; seen at first the same broken Pokémon, before eventually everything faded, leaving only Dialga. Even then he eventually died too, alone. She didn’t know of her death, she didn’t really exist at one point in time. She had no present apart from the one she chose.

 

In her childhood she hadn’t retreated to the past, she felt wrong there. While she had the power to exist in the light, she couldn’t save everyone from the darkness; that was why she could never stay there properly. Even then she attracted attention, she could never go back with Delta, that was why Grovyle… did it count as Grovyle when she was… the thought trailed off. She suddenly laughed at the notion that what she was doing could be “wrong”. In the darkness there was no wrong, anything would be worth it. Anything, even him… even him… even…

 

She shut her eyes, hating the thought that so frequently entered her head arriving again. Her time was running out, before long nothing would live in the darkness. She had to stop it now, failure wasn’t an option, and yet somehow direct intervention never seemed to be an option… still, if she had no choice at the end…

 

But before she would have to make that choice, there was Grovyle.

 

She opened her eyes again, gently, focusing on surviving for the minute. It didn’t take much of her attention, but she had to be careful not to forget basic things like eating. There was a mystery dungeon nearby, probably the best food source, and she definitely had Sableye on her tail. Smiling, she started fluttering towards the dungeon, knowing the Sableye wouldn’t follow.

 

The thought of the broken Pokémon she would have to defeat didn’t bother her, not any more.  Once they had disturbed her, then she had felt pity, but the darkness had eroded that to nothing. Before long they wouldn’t be there, anyway.

 

And then there would be light.

 

**Chapter 3**

 

“I can’t go on much longer,” Grovyle groaned, “We have to eat. I’ll faint soon… I shouldn’t have eaten the apple so hastily.”

 

“We can use your berries,” Delta suggested, but it was half-hearted since she already knew what his reply would be.

 

“We can’t afford to waste them, they could be essential. We have to go into a dungeon; we’ve already left it too late, now we’re weak from hunger…” he trailed off, seeming too exhausted and faint to finish his sentence. He closed his eyes for a while and the started again, “We have the escape orb, and we can rush into a nearby dungeon, grab food and use it to get out. A bit of a waste of an escape orb but we can’t afford to save it…”

 

“I told you, the place we’re going is a dungeon. It’s not that far away… I think…” she stopped and touched a rock, almost collapsing as she used her dimensional scream, “Not far, no, just eat a berry, give me one and then we’ll make it.”

 

“At least you haven’t used the pass scarf yet, it really affects your belly,” he sighed, giving in and throwing her a pecha berry. He ate one himself, but knew the relief would be short-lived. Soon he’d be eating the sleep seed out of desperation, then fall unconscious, unable to defend Delta…

 

They kept going at a stoic pace, too exhausted to talk, until the food they held in their bellies ran out.

 

“It’s there,” Delta sighed in relief, “the entrance. It looked dangerous, but we have no choice.”

 

“To me it looks barren,” Grovyle mumbled, too tired to really argue, “Like a desert, I don’t think they’ll be much food there,” but he relented, “I guess we have no choice.”

 

Cautiously, they stepped into “Northern Desert”. Once inside they could hardly tell it apart from all of the other dungeons they had encountered, same dark corridors and shadowy walls. It could have been a real desert, once, but after the darkness had come now it was just like everything else, rocks and little else.

 

In the gloom they were lucky on the first floor, not encountering any foes. Delta wore her pass scarf nervously, having not yet had its power proven to her. Grovyle wondered if his grass type might be of advantage and they’d be a few rock or ground type Pokémon thrown in among the usual dark ones, but he had no faith that his idea could be real.

 

Luckily in the first room there were two apples on the floor, a godsend. They each ate one but were still unpleasantly reminded of how close to death they’d come and just how easy it would be for them to find no more food at all. Apples were rare, they had been lucky.

 

Delta insisted on climbing the stairs as soon as they saw them (the second room), insisting that a scan for items would be a waste of effort. Grovyle wasn’t so sure, Delta would be no use at all without some sort of throwing item, but at the last minute he realized that the pass scarf he’s given her didn’t work on ranged attacks, it would only take a bit of bad luck to bring her down. Gulping, he climbed the stairs, hoping he could shield her from any range attacks but not certain he could.

 

On the second floor they came across their first enemy, a Shuppet. They were found everywhere in the darkness, being one of the few species which benefitted from the darkness, and so its presence told the duo nothing. Not wanting to waste a link move Grovyle used his normal attack, but he gasped in surprise when he felt the pain of the attack it had dealt to Delta. Grimacing, he used leaf blade for an instant knockout, but he really hoped he wouldn’t be forced to use link moves all the way. Max elixirs were rarer than apples.

 

They continued in this way for several more floors, but it was never monotonous because the danger of losing was always there. A few ground and rock type Pokémon started sneaking in alongside the dark and ghost ones, which made it far easier for Grovyle to get through although the Gravellers’ self-destruct was dealing serious damage. There was a monster house, but by then they had picked up a few more items and managed to warp all of the Pokémon in that room away and dash for the stairs.

 

Eventually, they reached the half-way point. Except it wasn’t that, all there was a still pit of black sand. Grovyle turned to Delta, expecting her to say they’d taken a wrong turning or they’d gone in the wrong dungeon, but instead she seemed to be looking at the pit, trying to piece things together. After a while she looked up at him and he instantly looked away, embarrassed from watching her.

 

“Well?” he asked, “Where from here?”

 

“We need to-” but she was cut off by a feral roar. Turning around in utter terror, Grovyle and Delta expected Primal Dialga, or at least a Nidoking. To their utter shock behind them there was a wavering image of some sort of pixie. It glared at them with insane red eyes. It screamed, then hissed an accusing sentence,

 

“Yoou… yooou causssed thiiss…”

 

And then it was gone. Grovyle looked at Delta for some sort of explanation.

 

“Tha- that wasn’t a dimensional scream?” she asked, still cringing from the noise.

 

“No, no it wasn’t.” Grovyle couldn’t avert his eyes from the position the strange Pokémon had appeared in.

 

“Maybe it was a vision… some sort of telepathy… or it could have teleported… but I did see it, before. I didn’t want to tell you, to put you off coming, but…” she looked at him and then quickly away again, “It was a guardian, once, to the time gear, one of three. I saw visions of it happy… we saw the state of the one time gear… maybe it drove that thing, I think I heard someone call it Mesprit once, off the edge….”

 

Grovyle was too numb to object that she’d lied to him. Eventually he managed to tear his eyes away from the spot where Mesprit had been, but he was still shaking.

 

“W-where now?” he asked, his eyes glassy.

 

“The pit. We have to jump.” Delta replied, painfully aware of how crazy she sounded.

 

“…the pit..?” Grovyle looked at her like she was stupid, “Really? Why? We could be killed… how do you know it was there in the past? We could be trapped down there, anything could happen…”

 

“No!” she insisted, “I remember they jumped too; there’s a cavern underneath the desert. It was called Quicksand Cave, from there I’m not sure what they did but touching something down there will trigger a Dimensional Scream… probably…”

 

“You can’t be certain.” He stubbornly replied, “We’d risk everything.”

 

“Yet if we don’t jump we stand to lose more. We have to take risks sometimes. You…” the human looked him in the eye, “You have to trust me. The point will come where you have a choice and if you don’t trust me then we’ll have both doomed the world.” Grovyle didn’t reply. “Well?”

 

He held out his hand to her.

 

-

 

“And then where did they go?” Dusknoir demanded, shaking a quivering wreck of a Sableye, “Was it somewhere you couldn’t follow to? I doubt it. How could you be LAZY enough to run off like that!”

 

“I-it w-was a d-d-dungeon,” the Sableye spluttered out a reply, “it e-ends in a p-pit, I left the o-others waiting outside…” he shook his head, as though snapping out of a daze, “Outside. I left them outside so that when Grovyle and the human turned around and came back they could follow. I came back to give you a status update, I wasn’t running off.” He finished defensively.

 

“You ALWAYS come back to report a failure!” Dusknoir roared. Calming down, he continued, “There could be anything in that dungeon. You say it’s a dead end, but with your sloppy work,” he cast the Sableye a withering glare, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a very time gear in there!” Turning away from his disappointing minion he mused to himself, “If only Master Dialga remembered the locations none of these petty precautions would be necessary.”

 

“So, uh, what should I do now?” The Sableye asked, still struggling in Dusknoir’s grip. Abruptly, Dusknoir dropped him.

 

“Go to the end of the dungeon and keep people outside. See if you can see anywhere they could have gone in the dungeon, I’ll consult Master Dialga and may deliver you further telepathic instructions.”

 

Nodding, the Sableye scurried off. Dusknoir started casually striding through Dialga’s headquarters, not quite delaying but not exactly hurrying either. Eventually he reached the entrance to the ruins of Temporal Tower and knocked.

 

“GROOOOOOH!” was his reassurance that he could enter.

 

“The Sableye have lost them yet again,” Dusknoir wrung his hands together nervously, fully aware he was held accountable for any of their errors, “But they entered a dungeon, the desert one. Would you know of anything within it?”

 

“THERE. IS. A. CAVE. BENEATH.” Dialga roared, but it was far loader and seemed to take a lot more effort than it did before. He panted, exhausted, afterwards and then resumed his sentence, “JUMP. IN. THE. PIT.”

 

“Could you send them the message?” the ghost Pokémon queried. The eventual roar of confirmation was delayed; Dusknoir had to wonder whether the darkness was getting too much even for his master. Either way he was becoming far less… controlled.

 

 Momentarily it occurred to him that maybe the organization was due for a change in leadership. Then again, if Dialga died who knew what could happen to time. Things were bad enough already, while the darkness was to his advantage if he could reverse it without he himself disappearing he probably would. Probably...

 

It didn’t matter what he would want to happen, anyway. He’d never have the choice, no matter what crazy things happened. Besides, he was far more replaceable than Dialga, he had to watch his step. Did Dialga’s telepathy work in reverse? That thought really unnerved him, but if he could then Dusknoir wouldn’t be safe anywhere at all. Dialga’s telepathy wasn’t affected by distance. Shuddering, Dusknoir decided to check if there was any news about Celebi.

 

Dialga blinked, trying to grasp onto something to think about, anything. The darkness was surrounding him, drowning him, his link with the world reducing him to its crippled state. He tried to stay still as he felt his body ripping apart, knowing it was just a tremor elsewhere. He only shuddered when Dusknoir had left.

 

This world… so cold… he just couldn’t think right now. Reasons, purposes, motives and results… these all seemed to interlink, but just the sounds not the meanings. All of these unrelated voices ringing in his ears, and this darkness… inescapable…

 

Confused. So confused. Dusknoir’s thoughts rang in his head, “if I could end the darkness, would I?” would Dialga? Go back in time, allow them? But no, no he couldn’t. He had to keep things as they were, had to preserve everything as a fly in amber. This world, this darkness was him. He had the link, he had to leave it or he would cease to exist with it. But the darkness…

 

A small piece of sanity cried out inside of him, mourning the plans he had set in motion to stop Celebi. But the majority had abandoned sentient thought, endlessly crying about this hurt the darkness inflicted upon him.

 

 

**Chapter 4**

 

Quietly Celebi rested in a tree, reflecting, yet again. Delta and Grovyle hadn’t left the dungeon yet, so she couldn’t track them. Either they had been permanently killed, captured by the Sableye or they were still fighting. She wasn’t sure which was worse; suspense or a cruel brief ending to all of her hopes. After all this time she could surely wait some more?

 

She closed her eyes, trying to not think about what she was doing. Not that anyone would ever know, anyway, but the thoughts she blocked and suppressed would sow seeds of doubt in ever her own mind just when she needed to be loyal to the cause most.

 

However this time for a second she let herself question what she was doing. Not that it mattered; no logic could stop what she was doing now. <i>Just like Primal Dialga, </i> was her disturbing afterthought.

 

Although she couldn’t deny that they were disturbingly similar. Both cursed and eroded by years of darkness, both slowly going insane and both abandoning ethics just to reach their own ends. Yes, the darkness had gone on far too long.

 

What she had done wasn’t justified anywhere. Just… watching Grovyle grow, watching him become scarred and lonely, watching him live in this crippled dying world and die with it. She could have helped him, and yet she had been spiteful, just wanting him to suffer as she had. There had been something about him being motivated, some lie she had made up so she could gain some scrap of redemption, but that lie had been made of glass, transparent and fragile.

 

Even then, she had waited until he was suffering so much, leeched so much by the darkness that the notion of giving up his life for her cause was acceptable. <i> To win a war you need to be able to do anything, </i> she told herself. She didn’t believe it.

 

In the end she was a manipulator but also a murderer. What she did was far from selfless, after all the darkness she would just be healed, not gone, not having never existed. She would be there, remembered while the true heroes’ plight would have never existed, let alone them be remembered.

 

Everything was unimportant in the race for light. Anything could be sacrificed, it was worth it. She still didn’t believe it.

 

Celebi stopped thinking about that, with its disappearance the guilt abated.

 

-

 

“This place goes on forever,” Grovyle sighed, gloomily.

 

Unfortunately there had been another dungeon beneath. The stakes were higher than ever because they were probably Sableye waiting at the entrance to the pit.

 

After what seemed like forever they reached the half-way point where they recoiled in horror at what they saw: Sableye.

 

The fact that the Sableye couldn’t possibly be there is what shocked the pair the most. How would they know there was a cave beneath? There had been no clues, unless they had been following them all along, but you couldn’t do that in a dungeon. Hiding? No, they would have screamed when Mesprit appeared. Suddenly Grovyle figured it out.

 

“How did you-” Delta began asking, but Grovyle cut her off with an abrupt reply,

 

“Dialga.”

 

For a while they stood opposite each other, neither moving with that one ominous word echoing around the cavern. After a while Delta leaned over to Grovyle and whispered in his ear hastily,

 

“They’re waiting for someone. A leader. Dialga?”

 

“No.” he replied, “It’d be Dusknoir.” suddenly he realized exactly how serious that was, “We need to move. I don’t have any orbs left after that dungeon; we’d have to run for it. They can’t follow us once we get inside.” he paused at that point, painfully aware that Dusknoir would be waiting there for when they were defeated or the way back, maybe they’d even overtake them and meet at the other end… he tried to forget that for now. “You ready?” he asked, tensing his muscles.

 

“Yes,” she replied and sped towards the entrance to the dungeon, Grovyle following with a momentary delay.

 

The Sableye seemed hesitant, unsure what to do without someone to lead them. They raced after Grovyle and Delta eventually, but by then it was too late and they were disappearing into the darkness of the dungeon.

 

What they stepped into seemed less like a desert and more like a cave. There was a Flygon in the room they were in, already far tougher than all of the Pokémon they had met so far. The air was colder and it just seemed so much more serious. Mistakes mattered far more here.

 

After defeating the Flygon Grovyle asked Delta a question that had been bothering him,

 

“Delta, if your dimensional screams show us where the Time Gears are why do we need to find them here? Why can’t we just go into the past and find them with your abilities there?”

 

“The past is our one shot,” she smiled, sadly, “I doubt we’d be able to come back and who knows what could happen. We need to make sure that no matter what happens we can solve the puzzles and reach them. Even if we were separated we need to be able to operate alone.”

 

Nodding, Grovyle wondered why he hadn’t thought of that. They continued for while longer, reaching the ninth floor. It was there they ran into their hardest room so far; a Gengar with two Flygons.

 

“Be careful,” Delta warned Grovyle, sounding extremely worried, “These look tough, use your link moves.”

 

“Why warn me now?” Grovyle asked.

 

“They’ll be waiting for us back there.” She replied, grimly, “If you go down and we get back there, weak, defeated, we won’t stand a chance. And if we fail we’re not the only people who’ll have to suffer the consequences.”

 

Grovyle started by throwing a stun seed at a Gengar so he wouldn’t have to worry about that one, they could leave it. He had planned to use the stun seed on Mesprit if they encountered it again, but he couldn’t afford to fail now. He then quickly defeated the Flygon with a leaf blade; meanwhile Delta was weakening the other Gengar with iron thorns.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Grovyle saw something flying towards Delta. <i> of course! </i> he thought, <i> their shadow balls,.. </i>

 

It was too late to shield her. Luckily what the Gengar had thrown was an iron thorn it had caught, so she could catch it. Grovyle cursed himself for not being more careful and quickly finished the Gengar off with an abrupt absorb, even though it was a waste since his health was almost full.

 

The stairs were in the next room.

 

“You ready?” Grovyle asked Delta, knowing that the next floor would probably be the last one. Either that or the fifteenth, or the twentieth.

 

“Yes,” she replied. After a quick pause she added, “Be careful.”

 

Grovyle didn’t reply. With all of his muscles tensed he finally managed to ease himself out of the stairs, calling for Delta to follow. There wasn’t anyone hostile there, or they hadn’t chosen to show themselves yet.

 

They found themselves in a stone corridor, it was clear that they’d left the dungeon. Cautiously they peered around the edge of the corridor only to see what they had feared most: Dusknoir. Instantly they stepped back, out of his sight. Grovyle clamped his hand over Delta’s mouth in case she might scream. She didn’t.

 

After the initial shock of seeing their worst enemy Grovyle looked again, but this time he realized that Dusknoir and the Sableye were severely wounded; they posed no danger. Whatever had done that to them, however… or they could always be faking.

 

“Is this far enough?” Grovyle whispered, “We know where the Time Gear is. They look defeated, but we have to consider that this might be a trap, and even if it isn’t there’s still what defeated Dusknoir.”

 

“We have to.” Delta replied grimly, “It’s our only choice. There could even be another dungeon after this before the Time Gear, we have no idea. We’d better go, be quiet and we might be lucky, they could not hear us.”

 

Nodding, Grovyle stepped silently around the corner. Dusknoir’s head was lifted and looking at him, however it was clear Dusknoir was too weak to attack Grovyle.

 

“Hah. I knew you’d come eventually. Pretty slow, though, we came through hours ago.” Dusknoir laughed, weakly. <i> Probably a bluff, </i> Grovyle thought, <i> to make us less confident. </i>

 

“No matter,” Delta replied, shrugging, “It was never a race.” Dusknoir looked at her, as though trying to figure her out. Encouraged by this curiosity she tried to turn it to her advantage, “So what’s ahead? What brought the “great and mighty” Dusknoir down?”

 

“Pah,” he spat, “We wounded the thing so badly you’ll get past it easily.”

 

Maybe he was trying to distract them from how easily they could kill him then and there, but neither were murderers anyway.  Recognizing that they wouldn’t get anything out of him they walked off down the corridor.

 

“Next time we meet,” Dusknoir shouted, “You’ll be the ones on the floor!”

 

“Don’t tempt me,” Grovyle laughed in reply. He began moving off, but Dusknoir called after him,

 

“Why don’t you do it?” Grovyle stopped in his tracks and turned to face him,

 

“Do what?” the green reptile replied.

 

“You’re so soft-hearted. Remind me how you survived so long?” Dusknoir mocked, “You could kill me here. It would end half of your problems.”

 

“You’d be replaced.”

 

“Ah, but that’s not it. You could send a message of warning, a threat to Master Dialga, telling him you wouldn’t go down easily. The new henchman wouldn’t know you, anyway, you’d gain. Why don’t you kill me now?”

 

Grovyle gave no reply.

 

“You’re so weak. Even Celebi would do it.” Dusknoir looked at him scornfully.

 

“We’re not Celebi,” Delta chimed in, “You’d rather we killed you?”

 

Dusknoir fell silent; although Grovyle couldn’t kill him he knew nothing about Delta. Still wordless, Grovyle also turned and kept going down the corridor. After a moment of hesitation Delta followed.

 

 

**Chapter 5**

 

When he was younger sometimes Grovyle’s mind had been overcome by the darkness. He would sit there muttering,

 

“So cold. So cold. Socold. Socoldsocoldsocold...” until his words became illegible.

 

Then he would quietly get up and move on, shivering and inside crying the tears his body couldn’t spare. That didn’t happen anymore, not since Celebi had come and shown him light.

 

Yet now, in the darkness, even while having Delta with him, he felt like sinking down onto the floor and screaming inside again. He dismissed the thought as abruptly as he could and as though to compensate he stepped far too hastily around the corner he’d been approaching.

 

Delta, worried about falling behind, rushed next to him and suddenly they faced what they had been dreading inside all along. Mesprit was staring at them, floating, behind it the Time Gear. Grovyle stepped back, preparing to flee, but in the process opening up Delta for attack.

 

“Wait,” she whispered, even though it was too late for them to be unseen now, “we need to know how it fights-”

 

She broke off gasping in pain and sinking to her knees. Mesprit had used psybeam on her, using a range attack the pass scarf wouldn’t deflect to Grovyle. Delta was breathing heavily; Grovyle could tell she’d die soon if he didn’t somehow find something to heal her with. He began fumbling in his bag but Mesprit cut him off,  


“Stop, or I’ll hit her again.” he froze, shocked at Mesprit’s clarity now compared to how insane they had been earlier.

 

“I’m stopping,” Grovyle replied, frowning and slowly withdrawing his hands from the bag.

 

“Hah, so here we are, roles reversed,” Mesprit cackled, “I the one with the power now! How does it feel, then? To have your closest friend, the one you care about most, in mortal peril” they broke off into even more insane laughter.

 

“I know you may see me as a threat,” Grovyle tried to continue cautiously but Mesprit was so unreasonable. It seemed to be completely consumed by the darkness. He continued, “But I mean you no harm.”

 

“No harm! No harm!” at first Mesprit echoed him mockingly, then they suddenly frowned, speaking resentfully and seriously, “You, you did this! How does it feel for you to suffer how I did? All of this darkness, my friend, the world! You broke it, then you let it eat at me, eroding me, breaking me. All because of you. And now you can suffer as I did, I will break your friend as you broke the world. You can wait here and watch them suffer then leave as I did.”

 

“I didn’t break the world,” Grovyle tried to sound calm, “You must be mistaken.”

 

Mesprit laughed again and then started crying. This whole experience was unnerving Grovyle, he had seen Pokémon broken by the future before but this was extreme. Mesprit was insane, unstable and seemed to have no grasp of anyone any more. He guessed that Mesprit would have had to have been around longer than any other Pokémon.

 

“You. All of you, the same,” they sobbed, “It doesn’t matter. This world broke me, so now I’ll just return the favour,” they began to laugh again although tears still seeped from their eyes, “That’s how things work, yes? Something breaks me, I break another, a vicious cycle. Oh this world, this dark broken <i>windless</i> world. Someone tortures me, I pass on the favour. If I have to live forever at least I can get someone to empathize with me, why not you? Any of you, for there are so many.”

 

Despite the darkness that lay immediately ahead of him Grovyle felt a surge of pity run through him. If only they hadn’t known the light so they couldn’t have missed it, if only Celebi could have helped them too, because that was what Celebi did, made it bearable, right?

 

Delta stirred slightly wheezing,

 

“Mesprit, you have two kindred to you, do you not?” she was cut off by coughing but then managed to continue, “how are they? Could you not make some light between you?”

 

<i>Of course,</i> Grovyle thought, <i>because that is it, isn’t it? We’re all held together by our own fragile spider webs of light. Those born in the darkness have more resilient ones, and we can all survive alone for a while. But eventually the darkness will start snipping the threads, one-by-one in the cruellest way and then that Pokémon will fall. Between friends the spider webs can be reformed and strengthened and you can survive for a while longer, but in the end we all just fall anyway.</i>

 

“Hah, them,” they spoke resentfully, “they mean nothing. Gone crazy, retired to their tiny pathetic hideouts to guard their treasure. No use to a sane mind.” then they laughed, “They drive a more unstable one completely over the edge. You know, I was the being of emotion, once, now I have no control over my emotions. Hah hah hah, isn’t that funny? The wilful one became a slave, the wise one became a brainless monster; the darkness has its way with things.”

 

“Once though, in the light-” Delta was cut off brutally,

 

“THE LIGHT?” Mesprit roared, suddenly angry, “The light has no power here. The light is nothing, a tool to make you weak so the darkness can get you. Hope only so you can feel despair.”

 

“There must be something left inside of you,” Grovyle had heard enough, “Something which tells you to let us go and return to your mind, some mercy-“

 

“No. No. No no no nononono…” Mesprit trailed off and then was suddenly pleading, “Don’t make me go back there. I’ll do anything, anything…” Back there? Were they referring to their mind? Grovyle could only guess, but he had to take advantage of this one chance,

 

“I won’t make you go back there if you let us go, teleport us out of here and leave us alone,” he tried. Mesprit had become despondent, staring at the floor. Then suddenly they burst out,

 

“You. You have her, your light… it burns… GO AWAY! GET OUT OF HERE! LEAVE ME! No, don’t leave me, don’t leave me to my mind, no, don’t go…”

 

With a wave of regret that he could do nothing for Mesprit Grovyle clutched Delta’s arm, dragging her away while Mesprit was in the grieving state and couldn’t stop them.

 

“Help it,” Delta managed to say, despite difficulties from her wounds, “help it by stopping the darkness, there’s no other way.”

 

Grovyle only just had enough willpower to drag her away from its screams. Guiltily, he entered the dungeon and used an escape orb, heading back to the entrance.

 

No Sableye were there, maybe it had been some sort of thank you from Dusknoir for giving them an escape route by distracting Mesprit.

 

Grovyle delved into his bag, wondering if any of his medicines would work on Delta. She had a huge bruise where the gravellerrock had hit her, it looked serious. He offered her an oran berry, she nodded. He put it in her mouth quickly and it seemed to have instant effects, the bruise becoming a more faded colour although it didn’t disappear like it would have on a Pokémon. It seemed items did work on her, just less powerfully.

 

Delta finally sank unconscious. Grovyle looked at her, had Mesprit been right? Was she his light, his hope? Whatever happened, he needed her now. They were bound, and he doubted even Celebi could replace a partner who he could trust so deeply so quickly.

 

Grovyle crouched by her side, guarding her until she awoke.

 

-

 

“GROOOOOH!”  Dialga roared in fury, hitting Dusknoir with a vicious metal claw.

 

“M-master Dialga,” Dusknoir sobbed in agony, “Please, stop. I failed you, but I can redeem myself, I can and will make it bette-”

 

Another cruel attack cut him off, leaving him gasping for breath. Dialga paused, glaring at him with his cruel red eyes,

 

“I. DO. NOT. FORGIVE.” Dialga seemed to be struggling for words at this point, “IF. YOU. DISOBEY. YOU. WILL. SUFFER.”

 

“I’ll never let them escape again!” Dusknoir pleaded, “Never give them a chance, I’ll chase them to the ends of the Earth!”

 

Dialga withdrew his attack,

 

“I. SENSE. YOUR. INTENTIONS.” each word sounded like an arrow pulled from a wound, painful to utter and hear, “DOUBTS. NOT. FORGOTTEN.”

 

“I seek only to serve you, master,” the ghost-type begged, “and doubts are now erased. I only wish to preserve the darkness, without the darkness I would die.”

 

The legendary nodded, but even that seemed strained and painful. Dusknoir wished desperately for some privacy in his thoughts now he had found out that Dialga saw everything… there was a chance, but…

 

He quickly started gliding away. In the distance Dialga roared, but more in pain than from wanting to stop Dusknoir’s plan. Gathering Sableye as he went, he finally made his way to a cell where a shiny Espeon lay. Her eyes were dull, her fur green and her stance hopeless.

 

“Sianté,” he commanded. She looked up at him, slowly and weakly, “I need you to hide something for me, put up a barrier around my head to keep him out.”

 

“I’m his prisoner,” Sianté sighed, “and yet you know I don’t even need them for <i>persuasion</i> anymore. I’ll do it.” Her gem gently glowed, a ray of light shot out of it and surrounded Dusknoir for a short while before fading away. “It is done, no one can see your thoughts but you now, and me, I suppose.”

 

“You had better not-“

 

“No fear, I know what isn’t my business.”

 

Dusknoir smiled, turning his back on her. The Sableye would lock her up, it was useful to have a psychic around. Especially one who had contact with Celebi…

 

Now his mind was free, he finally let himself think what he had been supressing. A song he had heard mothers sing to their young,

 

<i>Your face is as barren as the valley you see,

Nothing left to combat this darkness in me.

Do you have a needle to repair time’s lie?

You are my thread, my light I sew by.</i>

 

It was so beautiful, so true. Even he could see that.

 

But he had no thread and no light, just a barren face and a heart filled with darkness.

 

 

**Chapter 6**

 

“Celebi!” Grovyle exclaimed upon seeing his oldest friend for what seemed like the first time in forever, “How are you?”

 

Delta had awoken and been walking with Grovyle for a while now, her dimensional scream already guiding them towards their next target. Celebi had appeared out of some bushes, slipping through them like a spirit from a body.

 

“Well enough, dear Grovyle,” she smiled, “Any trouble so far?”  


“We’ve gained more than we’ve lost,” Delta said quickly before Grovyle had a chance to say what he thought. “There have been some dangerous moments, but what we’ve found out has been worth it.”

 

“What have you found?” Celebi queried.

 

“Apart from the Time Gear in Treeshroud Forest they all seem to be guarded by some sort of Pokémon, apparently the one we saw, Mesprit, and two others. I knew that from my dimensional scream, but not this: Mesprit was insane, they talked only in riddles and tried to kill us but I still think what I could glean from their maze of words is true. There seem to be two others who are also currently insane; Mesprit was the being of emotion so the darkness took all control of their emotions, there seems to be a being of will which is a slave to the darkness and a wise one the darkness made stupid.”

 

Grovyle wished he had listened more closely to Mesprit’s words now. It seemed like amidst the desperate mumblings and mood swings there had been some crucial information. He saw himself as lucky to have Delta as a partner.

 

“I know them,” Celebi muttered regretfully, “The wise one is Uxie, the wilful one Azelf. They all fight in the same style so you don’t need to worry about fighting the other two. I think Azelf is in Dusknoir’s custody, I’m not sure about Uxie, they might have died. I don’t think either are a threat anymore. Did you find out anything else?”

 

“Not really,” Delta admitted, “But we saw the Time Gear there behind Mesprit in the centre of some sort of underground lake.”

 

“Seems like you know quite a lot. Well the, good luck!” Celebi waved her hand at them, “You’re half-way to finding all of the Time Gears! I’d best be off now.”

 

“Wait,” Grovyle blurted out, “You’ve hardly stayed.”

 

What he was trying to say was that he trusted her. She was his friend, part of his light, ad he needed to talk to her properly. He was also very jealous of Delta because she had gotten most of the attention; perhaps he just craved Celebi’s approval.

 

“Oh Grovyle,” Celebi’s cheerfulness suddenly sounded fake in the bleak surroundings. So fake. And… so sad in how hopeless it sounded, how transparent the lie was, “You don’t need me anymore, you have Delta now.”

 

With a whir of miniscule wings, she was gone. <i>Maybe,</i> Grovyle thought, <i>she’s right. No. I still need her; she saved me from the darkness. I’m not ready to let her go.</i>

 

“How far left before the next dungeon?” Grovyle snapped at Delta, angry with her for invading on his time with Celebi. Celebi was his friend; she had no right to take her from him. “We have provisions enough this time, I hope?”

 

“No.” Delta replied bluntly. Grovyle waited awhile for a reply but none came.

 

“What?” he furiously asked, “We’ll have to waste strength in dungeons on the way?”

 

“It’s too far. We’d have to go directly by one of Dusknoir’s bases anyway, and avoiding it would waste so much time. I think we only have really one option here, and you’re not going to like it.”

 

“What option?” Grovyle was angrily abrupt with her again.

 

“Get captured and break out. It’ll save us twenty days walking, maybe even more because they could teleport us, and Dusknoir won’t let us starve to death.”

 

“What??!” Grovyle shouted at her, finally snapping, “You want to waste the one chance this world has on some throwaway idea that could go terribly wrong??! There has to be another way!”

 

“I’ve tried to think of one!” She shouted back, but sounding more upset than angry, “I’m trying, okay; this is the best I can come up with right now. It’s risky, but it could pay off!”

 

“Could.” he spoke with icy rage, “We can’t risk the fate of the world on a ‘could.’” Delta turned away, cut by his fury and spoke quietly,

 

“You could think of an idea instead of just ripping mine apart.”

 

Grovyle was silent. After a long time he walked round to face her and offered his apology,

 

“I’m sorry I was so… harsh. You’re right, we have no other choice.” He paused. She looked up at him. “How are we going to do this?”

 

“We’ll have to bring him to us, pull some large stunt,” Delta’s voice was weak and shaky, but she wasn’t crying and seemed to be trying to hide how upset she was. “We could start a fire, or something-”

 

“That won’t be necessary, my dear,” a new far more sinister voice entered their conversation. The duo turned around to find themselves facing Dusknoir, surrounded by Sableye, “In your little fight you quite lost track of things. While getting captured by me may seem like a shortcut to you I can assure you that attempts at escape are always futile.” Dusknoir paused, revelling in his victory and Delta interrupted him, seemingly unfazed,

 

“If you could take us to your base at the bottom of that barren mountain it would be convenient.” Grovyle, flinching from the shock of Dusknoir being here, shuddered at her calm attitude. What could have happened to her that would let her brush this off? And why were her and Dusknoir so civil to each other, some kind of game? It wasn’t one he liked to partake in.

 

“As you wish, my dear,” Dusknoir laughed, “Grab on.”

 

Delta held on to his arm, grasping Grovyle’s too. The Sableye also gathered around Dusknoir, shooting each other nervous looks. One even whispered,

 

“I hate this part.” Only to be shut up by a glare from Dusknoir.

 

Suddenly Grovyle felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He doubled over and Delta almost lost her grip on him, but he managed to refrain from shouting out. After what seemed like millennia the pain faded (although there was still nausea) and he managed to straighten up.

 

He took a few dizzying steps and then collapsed.

 

“The teleport has that effect on Pokémon,” Dusknoir told them, “It makes it easier to do this.”

 

He then grabbed Grovyle and Delta and dragged them to some sort of prison cell, opposite one that contained a shiny Espeon.

 

Grovyle was struggling to keep conscious by the time he was thrown in, the impact of the floor knocked him out. Delta didn’t move from where Dusknoir had thrown her either.

 

With an unsettling laugh, Dusknoir locked the door.

 

“Shouldn’t we kill them now, while they’re weak?” a Sableye asked Dusknoir nervously.

 

“You know I like to put on a show,” he replied mirthlessly.

 

-

 

Sometimes Celebi wondered if this was her punishment for what she did to Grovyle; constant memories and regrets.

 

<i>You should never ever show someone light if they can’t see it,</i> Celebi thought, <i>that’s what I did to Grovyle. Gave him his true despair in knowing hope and showed him a light that made his surroundings forever inadequate in comparison. And now there’s just darkness and he’ll never see the light again.</i>

 

The same was done to her in this endless unforgiving darkness. Maybe she had once been able to find some light and stay around it, trying desperately not to lose herself in the darkness, before it had slipped away. She had brought it back to show Grovyle, but hadn’t been able to find it since.

 

Would her disturbing will to harm, to reach her goals at any cost, simply <i>be</i> if she had kept the light in sight? Even with that, what was the nicest thing she could have done to Grovyle? Leave him in the darkness, it being all he’d ever known, to live out an empty life without despair or hope. Was pain better, any pain than the complete absence of it? And there was the hope along with it, although that was far crueller.

 

Maybe, just maybe, Grovyle could appreciate the true beauty of the darkness. The way everyone could still live, appreciate whatever they had and brave it, if only for a short while. Everyone had to form bonds; it was that or be swallowed. The true brightness the light that held everyone together burned, short bursts of light although quickly extinguished.

 

In the darkness all light was twice as bright. It shined through everything, allowing impossible friendships to form. Like Grovyle and Delta.

 

Then in the light, it was so different. In that past where you could live alone, unharmed, forever. There was no need to bond although some still did, and when light burned it was so dull in comparison to the unending light brimming around them no one noticed. Maybe they’d all miss the darkness slightly, but she knew they’d have no chance to.

 

The darkness wasn’t just the lack of a sunrise; it was burned into their hearts. The brightness that brimmed around them in the future was also branded into the hearts of the Pokémon that lived in that. In the future a Pokémon from the past was a beacon, in the past a Pokémon from the future was a hole of blackness.

 

Not to say their blackness wasn’t bright.

 

When she had first seen Grovyle she had felt the first hope, seen the brightness of the blackness, in millions of years. He had existed in the world, so perfect, so small, so innocent… and yet she had almost hated him for that. He had innocence and she could never regain hers. With almost resentment she had broken his innocence, justifying herself that the darkness would have done it anyway.

 

Yet all of the time she had helped him, she had resented him inside, for not having to make those impossible choices she was forced to decide.

 

What Celebi hated to believe, what she hated them all to believe, was that they belonged in the darkness and even if the sun rose they wouldn’t be able to truly feel its warmth, just feel that it had outshone them.

 

She smiled sadly at that last part, <i>outshone by the sun.</i>

 

Grovyle would definitely miss the darkness.

 

 

**Chapter 7**

 

“My head,” Grovyle moaned, holding it in his hands. His vision was unclear and he felt very dizzy.

 

“We succeeded in the easiest part of our goal,” Delta sounded calm, despite having to have a headache as bad as Grovyle’s, “Now just to break out.”

 

Grovyle looked up tentatively, wincing as the pain in his head worsened. There were bars in from of him, the other walls seemed to be stone although he hadn’t looked behind him, and opposite there seemed to be another room. Inside that there was a sleeping green Espeon, they were very thin although as clean as all of the cat Pokémon Grovyle had ever come across had been.

 

“How long have I been out?” Grovyle ignored the Espeon’s presence, turning to Delta.

 

“I’m not sure, I woke up a few hours ago. They’ve been a few Sableye gawking at us,” she smiled then, and Grovyle realized how little she did, “We seem to be more of a legend than we think.”

 

“So do we have support from the normal Pokémon, then? It could come in handy if they’re any willing to help us, we could get equipment and food and take shelter…”

 

“I think it has the opposite effect. Before people would have feared us spies, perhaps, but a few might have been brave enough to help us despite their distrust of strangers. Now we’re publicly enemies of Dialga no one will dare to stand up to him and help us in any way,” her smile faded then, to Grovyle’s dismay, “In one sense we’re even more truly alone.”

 

“There is another side to this,” Grovyle offered, desperate to cheer Delta up, “We’ll always be remembered now.”

 

“Hah,” Delta laughed bitterly, “We’re not that famous. If we manage to escape from the unavoidable execution then we’ll have to worry about our lack of help. Otherwise there’s nothing to worry about at all.”

 

Since Grovyle couldn’t think of a reply to that, aside from pointing out that it was Delta who had gotten them in to this in the first place which he wouldn’t do since he didn’t want to upset her, they sat in silence. Grovyle stared at the Espeon, willing it to wake up and tell them about some sort of secret escape tunnel in their cell, even though he knew it’d never happen.

 

“This might not be the best time,” Grovyle admitted, as he looked at Delta, “but I don’t feel quite as passionately as you do about, well, generally lifting the darkness. I… I want to. I want to have your pure motives and work on tackling this, this darkness but…”

 

“You’re not quite ready to sacrifice everything for it,” she finished for him, “but you really shouldn’t assume that my motives are pure. Not that it matters, the results are the same. In the end, you’ve got t have nothing to live for and nothing to lose.  Personal vendetta helps too.”

 

Grovyle remembered the familiar way in which Delta had addressed Dusknoir and shuddered slightly. Maybe after this experience he would gain something similar, and move one step closer to being able to sacrifice everything. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. But yet… the closer he got to Delta the less willing he was to give her up. So in some sense, he was becoming more attached to this darkness and all it entailed rather than slowly letting it slip by.

 

“Hello,” the shiny Espeon had finally woken up, “Grovyle and Delta, yes? I’ve been tracking your movements for quite a while. I’m Sianté.”

 

Grovyle flinched at the mention of his name. Was this how Dusknoir could always find them so easily..?

 

“Ah yes. I’ve speculated about your existence for a while,” Delta replied. Grovyle was unsure about whether she was bluffing or not, “may I ask why exactly you lead him to us and spill our plans, time after time?”

 

“Stay here for long enough,” she smiled, bitterly, “and you’ll find out. Not that you will, you’ll either be killed in a few hours or you’ll find a way out.”

 

“Surely you can help us get out?” Delta enquired, eagerly.

 

Suddenly Grovyle saw her plan. She had suspected the existence of some kind of psychic, assuming the psychic felt guilty about what they did for Dialga she had hoped they’d help them escape. But this Espeon and her hardened, unforgiving eyes… maybe Delta had made a gross miscalculation. Then again, he trusted her. She would have a backup plan.

 

“Not I, I’ve assessed the risk benefit of every possible escape method and the danger isn’t worth it. The chances of getting out are miniscule, next to nothing.”

 

Grovyle noted the lack of hopelessness in her voice. She had been here for a very long time.

 

“What of Azelf?” Grovyle asked, remembering Celebi saying that he’d been captured.

 

“The blue elf? I think his ramblings got too much for the guards and they killed him, quietly. I remember Dusknoir getting annoyed this one time-“

 

“You’re sure you can’t help us escape?” Delta demanded, interrupting. It was clear she hadn’t been listening to their conversation.

 

“I told you, no,” Sianté insisted coldly, angry at being interrupted, “There is one very risky way, but it relies on brute strength. No offence,” she cast her eyes over Delta, “but you just wouldn’t make the cut.”

 

“We’ll take anything,” Grovyle put in, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

 

At Grovyle’s input Sianté’s eyes softened. Briefly he reflected on her cold treatment of Delta, but it was probably triggered because of the interruption.

 

“There is a dungeon here,” she admitted, “but it’s a harsh one. Ninety-nine floors, barely any good items, he uses it to trap people in. They’re all of these insane Pokémon wandering around in it… and I’m not sure but I think Palkia may reside at the bottom. Everything’s tough… it’s not worth the risk. I don’t even think it’s an exit by accident. He wants people to try and escape via it, to become lost…

 

“If you faint inside you don’t get brought back to your cell, you respawn on floor one. Over time attempting and attempting, over and over, you slowly begin to lose your mind. You become a feral Pokémon, trapped inside. Not even Palkia could get through, that’s why he’s trapped in there. It’s not worth it. Don’t even try.”

 

The pair were silent for a moment. <i>That’s not even an option,</i> Grovyle thought, <i>I’d rather Dusknoir killed me than be trapped in there.</i> Delta seemed to consider it for a long time before she finally mumbled, in defeat,

 

“We couldn’t make that.”

 

“What a shame.” Grovyle and Delta jumped back at the familiar voice piercing through their conversation. Dusknoir. “I really thought you’d take that option. Still, what can I say,” he smiled, “either way has the same ending result.”

 

“You’re cheating,” Delta replied, with an unnerving smile to match Dusknoir’s. Grovyle shrank back, in awe and horror of the strange game these two insisted on playing, “you should really let us hatch at least one plan.”

 

“I gave you time aplenty, it’s not my fault you chose to only start planning when Grovyle woke up. Now, it’s time for my victory, come on.”

 

“How dull,” was Delta’s sole comment as both of them stood up and followed Dusknoir, flanked by Sableye.

 

Grovyle cowered through the dark corridors, he couldn’t help himself. Delta managed to somehow maintain a bored expression throughout their march, Grovyle envied her for that.

 

“You know,” he told her as they were tied up at the pillars, “I’m happy to have known you, to have fought this. I made more of an impact even if I lived for a shorter while, and it was nice to know some light… if only once… so thank you. For all of this.”

 

“It’s too early for farewells,” Delta replied, “I thought either the psychic would help us or us letting him live back with Mesprit would make him think he owed us this,” her brow furrowed, “never did I think this would be the end. I’d hoped to save this for later, but… now seems to be the time.”

 

“Wha-“ Grovyle was cut off by a sharp jab of Sableye claw to the stomach. He cried out in pain, wishing he could take it like Delta. “Celebi,” he muttered, as everything began to fade, “I wish I could talk to her one last time…”

 

Then everything faded to white. <i>If this is the end…</i> Grovyle thought, <i>then there’s nothing left to say. The world will remain dark…</i> he drifted off.

 

 “Wake up! Grovyle! We have to get moving!” Delta whispered urgently, “I used the escape orb I’d put aside for an emergency like this.”

 

He sat up, invigorated with life. Jumping up, he gasped at pain from a wound in his side. Delta was bleeding worse than he was, so he didn’t mention anything, setting off after her. There was a dungeon ahead, he still had the treasure bag and tossed Delta a few oran berries, eating some himself.

 

“This is the dungeon we need to enter,” she told him, “Craggy Coast. It’s just one stop-off, not the last one.”

 

With a tentative smile, he followed her. Perhaps it was the first time he’d felt happy to be alive.

 

-

 

“That was easier than I expected,” Grovyle sighed, “It was fairly short and we found better items than we used. We even lost the Sableye; I wish all dungeons were this easy.”

 

“I agree,” Delta seemed relieved, “There’s something I need to tell you. But first I need to know that you trust me.”

 

“I do,” Grovyle replied, more wanting to know what she wanted to tell him than actually being honest. He trusted her, but only within reason. Her familiarity with Dusknoir kept him wary.

 

“I don’t think we can trust Celebi’s judgement.” Grovyle froze, waiting to hear justification for Delta’s claim. “She’s ruthless. We need her help, I admit that, but she’s willing to sacrifice too much. She’s too old, too affected by the darkness. Dialga and her are both linked to the time stream and you’ve seen what it’s done to Dialga. She’s just better at hiding it.”

 

“No.” Grovyle responded, icily, “Celebi saved me from becoming like the rest of the inhabitants of the darkness. She kept me alive. I owe her too much to abandon her.”

 

“You have to see how she’s been manipulating you. She’ll do anything to end the darkness, ethics aside. We need to have standards, to be above those we fight-“

 

“I trust her above anyone. I will follow her before anyone else no matter what you say.”

 

“She trained you well, and we both owe her. Maybe you’ll come to see my view…” she muttered the last part so Grovyle could barely hear her, “Hopefully before it’s too late.”

 

 

 

**Chapter 8**

_Delta’s PoV_

My name is Delta and I’m a long way from home. It’s been a while now, since I came through that dimensional anomaly and arrived in this darkness as a child, and I can barely remember the sunlight. I’ve forgotten my family, I stubbornly held onto their faces for a long time but eventually it was too painful to remember. I let them fade.

 

Not that I need them, now I have Grovyle.

 

Grovyle who blindly trusts Celebi over me. He’s not perfect, but he’s a partner to cling to. We both owe Celebi anyway; it was her who managed to hide me from Dialga while I matured. I can’t help but wonder if the Palkia trapped in that dungeon at Dialga’s base was the one to bring me over… but that’s unlikely. It was probably Arceus operating remotely, not wanting to directly avert this dark future from happening but helping it to.

 

Not that I have time to think of that now. Unlike Grovyle I will sacrifice everything to avert the future. My family are far away, I’ll never see them again and they won’t be hurt by the ending of the darkness, I’m safe.

 

I assume Grovyle’s family are hiding in some small hole, waiting for him to return to them. Otherwise Celebi would have done away with them.

 

“This statue looks like some kind of legendary. Know which?” he asks me, expecting me to tell him everything. I can’t help but resent him slightly for leaning on me that much and expecting me to do all of this work, but considering the burden I am in dungeons it’s only fir. I suppose.

 

“Groudon,” I reply, “What do these footprint runes say?” All I can read are Unknown letters; I never bothered with footprint runes. I really should learn them, but I’ve been busy lately.

 

“Reignite the life that burned within Groudon… Then the sky shall blaze with the sun’s heat… The path to treasure shall be revealed…”

 

Suddenly our eyes meet and a spark of joy flies between them.

 

“The sky shall blaze?” I cry out in joy, “The darkness?” and suddenly my heart sinks. “Oh, I think I understand. Once there was mist here, the area is after all called Fogbound Lake. Then we have to place the red stone in the Groudon’s Heart, except it’s already there. When we go into the past we’ll have to find it,” I looked at the dull orange stone that rested in the Groudon’s hollow chest. Someone had been here before, although they’d probably died by now.

 

…Were we not the first to try and lift the darkness with the time gears? Had Celebi had others before us, who like us had solved the puzzles and failed?

 

I decided to worry about that later.

 

“I see,” Grovyle said, trying to hide the bitter disappointment in his voice. He was getting better at hiding his emotions, although they were still very transparent. “So we should press onwards to that cave?”

 

“Yes, Steam Cave. I saw it in my original dimensional scream. Apparently this is the one guarded by Uxie, Celebi said they probably died, they shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

Together, we stepped onto the threshold of the cave. Only hesitating slightly, we walked in. I gripped my iron thorns tightly. They’d been no sign of Dusknoir, but although we had lost the Sableye because of the psychic and Dialga they could easily pick up our trail.

 

On the first floor there was a fire-type. I swallowed; this wouldn’t be an easy climb. If we had been hungry and weak I doubt we would have made it, but we were in good spirits with plenty of items and since sleeping at Dialga’s base we were fairly rested. With the help of Grovyle’s dig we managed to climb to the halfway point where we slept, and kept going.

 

Eventually we reached an eerie lake surface.

 

It was dead. That was the simplest way to describe it. There was nothing there at all but still, black water which neither Grovyle nor I dared enter. We could see the Time Gear in the centre, and that was enough.

 

“…does this mean there’s only one left?” Grovyle asked on our descent, hopefully.

 

“It should do,” and for the first time I saw our goal as reachable. We could make it. This wasn’t the end, this wasn’t an impossible mission, and we could do it.

 

When we reached the base suddenly I realized our mistake,

 

“I should have touched the time gear to trigger another dimensional scream; we have no idea where the last one is.” Instantly my hope was drained.

 

“We could ask Celebi,” Grovyle suggested. Grovyle, whom still believed that we were Celebi’s first attempt at ending the darkness. Grovyle, whom still insisted that Celebi’s motives and methods were pure.

 

But there was no other option anyway.

 

“We’ll have to find her first, but it’s probably our best option. Do you have any idea where she could be?”

 

“She normally finds us; we can just wait around for a while. Otherwise, maybe the location of the first time gear.”

 

By that point I’m no longer listening. I think I know why Celebi isn’t around. Dusknoir hasn’t been following us here, and ambushing us at that lake is just his style. Does he think he succeeded in killing us? Or… is he more occupied…

 

With Celebi.

 

If I tell Grovyle he’ll insist on a rescue attempt, no matter how risky it is or how much we stand to lose. And looking aimlessly for her, or waiting around for Dusknoir to turn his attention this way is far worse.

 

Still, Celebi’s always been able to look after herself. He’s right, she’ll find us. We just have to keep moving, looking around on our own, eventually she’ll check on us. Hopefully before Dusknoir gets a chance.

 

“Delta?” Grovyle snaps me out of my daze, “Do you have a better plan?”

 

“I think we should keep looking and expect Celebi to find us,” I put forward cautiously, hoping Grovyle won’t notice that I haven’t been listening to him for the past few minutes.

 

He frowned.

 

“I’ve just explained if we’re too dynamic she won’t be able to find us.”

 

“And Dusknoir, should we make it easy for him to find us too?” I snap back, irritated at having to justify my view.

 

“He hasn’t been following us lately, he must have assumed we died or be following up some more pressing matters.”

 

Ah. He’d realized that much, how could I explain about Celebi… maybe it would have been better for me to just cave in to his plan, but it’s not just a small personal sacrifice I’d have be making, it’d have be one for the world.

 

“No. Either way he’ll still turn his attention back to us later. We have to stay ahead of him with more caution than ever; next time he captures us escaping won’t be that easy. He’s probably already gotten rid of the stone that made escape orbs work even though it wasn’t a dungeon; he had it before for convenience.”

 

“What is it with you two,” he replied, angrily, “You treat it like a game. If that helps you cope then fine, play all you want, but keep me uninvolved.”

 

“You could say we knew each other before, and that’s when it started,” I responded, drily, “but the stakes have always been high. As for you playing, you can’t avoid some things.”

 

“’Can’t avoid some things’. Wow.” He finished with a huff. We looked at each other for a few minutes after that, before bursting out laughing. It was good, to be able to laugh together. Any tension or conflict there had been between us was resolved in that.

 

Maybe it was then I considered him a friend, but I suppose I really had long before that.

 

“So,” he asked tentatively, shyly, “how did you know Dusknoir before?”

 

It’s only natural that he’d ask that. I tried not to tense up and managed not to frown. I’d have to tell him at some point, anyway, and I could get some information from him in return.

 

“When I first came over, Celebi hid me. For months I managed to exist outside of Dialga’s knowledge, eventually that changed. There was only so much Celebi could do for me once they were on my trail, I think she allowed them to capture me as she knew they wouldn’t harm me straight away. I suppose you could say,” my voice hardened and I managed a small bitter smile <I>and that's why I hate Celebi</I>, “that I became very well-acquainted with Dusknoir during that time.”

 

“And… this game you play?”

 

“It started while I was with him. Over time we’ve had fun,” the word fun was spat out resentfully, “predicting each other’s moves, evading the other’s traps. Somewhere along the line it became personal, and now we even try to outwit the other while talking. You could call it a game; I think it’s more serious than that. I suppose to Dusknoir that’s all it is…”

 

“He must have nothing to lose,” Grovyle nodded.

 

“Not really. I would, given the chance, kill him.” I allowed that statement to ring out and shock the surrounding atmosphere. <i>I would have with Mesprit,</i> I thought, <i>but I needed your trust back then.</i> “In return, may I ask you a question?”

 

“Of course,” he replied, still in good spirits.

 

“Where are your family?” <i>Or rather, what did Celebi do to them.</i>

 

“I have no idea; they weren’t there at my birth. I grew up alone for quite a long time, I was almost feral. Eventually Celebi stepped in and helped me, she pulled me back from the brink.”

 

I hoped my smile didn’t look too fake and that it was good enough cover for my shock. Celebi… had she found the abandoned egg? Convinced the parents to run away? Killed them? Or had she been uninvolved in that and truly innocent?

 

She could have even made him grow up alone and stepped in at just the right moment. All so he’d have been perfect to manipulate, a tool to end the darkness. That way he feel he owed her when really she owed him.

 

I really, really hated Celebi. I could see her desperation in her actions, perhaps plots had failed before ours that had been led by her. Either way she was so ruthless, I wasn’t sure if I’d even have picked her over Dialga. She was the enemy, that much was certain, and we had to be very wary of her while asking her for help.

 

And this was the one Pokémon Grovyle had decided to trust above all else. It was laughable, really.

 

“So shall we head off?” I asked him.

 

“Lead the way,” he replied with a naïve grin.

 

<i>And somehow, throughout all this, he still held onto his innocence and light.</i>

 

 

**Chapter 9**

_Celebi’s PoV_

 

Groaning slightly, I flew over the forest, my legs hanging limply. I think that was the first time I’d been captured against my will, and escaping hadn’t been easy. At least I’d bought Delta and Grovyle some time. Now I needed to find them and check on how they were doing.

 

 Sighing slightly I whirred through the air. I closed my eyes and sent out a telepathic pulse no-one would be able to pick up, one similar to echo location. I received a bounce-back pulse from Grovyle and Delta’s location and teleported into a sheltered area nearby just in case I was being deceived.

 

After so much teleporting the dizzying effect didn’t bother me. I blinked twice on the other side, peering out of the trees. Delta and Grovyle were trekking ahead and hadn’t noticed me yet. They seemed exhausted.

 

<i>Typical,</i> I mused, <i>Grovyle too stubborn to rest and Delta always forgets to sleep. I should go remind them.</i>

 

I trailed vaguely behind them for a while, waiting to see if they were alert enough to notice me. If they weren’t I might have to lower my expectations and the percentage of likely success. Right now it was at 30%, the highest it had even been. Delta was clever, she had probably figured out by now that I knew too much for them to be the first I’d raised to help end the darkness. Grovyle was too naïve, he trusted me no matter what.

 

 This end justified any means. Even that kind of loss.          

 

Delta was like a gift, with her dimensional scream and just that she was human. She stood out, but if the Pokémon were just slightly less broken she could be a figurehead. This way she was just an obvious target. There were towns here, ones she could never enter. She could barely even interact normally with Pokémon; she practically lived in solitary confinement.

 

So I relied on her to latch onto Grovyle since he was practically her only interaction. I hoped she’d feel she owed me more, but in the end she was too intelligent. She saw my corruption and secrets, which at least Grovyle still ignored. She probably wouldn’t tell Grovyle, and even if she did he probably wouldn’t believe her. Probably.

 

“Celebi?” Grovyle asked, without turning around. I flinched and then smiled slightly, glad he could notice me.

 

“Hello, dear Grovyle,” I chimed back. My voice was always falsely light and cheerful around these two, they needed the optimism and it was easy to fake.

 

“Hi.” Delta replied coldly, glaring at me. She hated me. It reminded me of how, by the end, every other Pokémon I’d raised to help end the darkness hated me. Some had kept up the charade and kept fighting, but many more had dropped out and defected, joining Dialga just to spite me. That was why I couldn’t have some kind of complex network of resistance contacts; too many would die when one defected.

 

Ws Grovyle the only thing stopping Delta from doing that? She didn’t really seem to have a reason to want to end the darkness, other than her vendetta against Dusknoir.

 

“We need to know the location of the last time gear,” Grovyle explained, “We haven’t had a dimensional scream relating to its location. Do you have any ideas?”

 

“One?” I asked, blinking. Delta stared coldly at me, refusing to drop her gaze, “There’re two left.”

 

“What?” She asked, looking slightly surprised for once.

 

“Two time gears. One is in an underground lake; one is in some sort of cave I think, in this area.”

 

“And you didn’t mention this before because?” Grovyle seemed taken aback. Had I really forgotten one? Delta was looking at me, probably seeing this as another sign of my deteriorating mind.

 

“I… uh…” I struggled to come up with an explanation, “Never really counted the Treeshroud Forest one. It was so easily accessible; it wasn’t even really a problem at all.” Grovyle slumped, seeming to accept my explanation. Delta still looked wary. “The closest one should be in a cave somewhere around here, I’m not sure which.” <i>the only team which ever discovered it were the Houndoom and the Ampharos, and by then they had broken off contact with me; they didn’t trust me.</i>

 

“Huh,” Delta grumbled, but seemed to be making some kind of effort to control her angry, if only for Grovyle, “So we just enter a few caves around here until we find the right one? What about Dusknoir?”

 

“I’ll deal with him,” I replied, not quite sure how to fulfil my promise. There was an awkward silence for a bit and Grovyle looked at me expectantly. Soon I realized I’d been neglecting him and looked at Delta pointedly. With a threatening glare aimed at me that Grovyle didn’t even notice, she sighed and began walking away, calling after her,

 

“I’ll catch up with you.”

 

“How’s it going?” I asked Grovyle with what I hoped was a comforting smile.

 

“Quite well, Delta’s been great,” he replied. He seemed really happy to be able to talk to me, “We’ve had a lot of pinches, even been captured by Dusknoir! But we got out.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve been making great progress. Soon you’ll all be done, and none of this will have happened,” I was almost crying, but tried my best to hide it. Grovyle… Grovyle… “We’ll all be free to live out lives in the light where we won’t even know of this.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed with a tentative smile, “Yes we will.”

 

Then without anything further said he raced after Delta, leaving me behind him and forgotten. It was then that I realized I was being replaced. <i>All part of the process,</i> I comforted myself, <i>I wouldn’t have known him for much longer anyway. At least I knew him while he was still innocent, still had faith in me.</i>

 

Suddenly my attention was drawn to a nagging presence at the back of my head. I had been blocking it out, but I soon realized it was that Espeon.

 

<i>Spy,</i> I hissed mentally.

 

[Nice to see you again too.] Came the inevitable reply.

 

<i>Don’t you dare report their location. If you don’t and they succeed you’ll never have been captured, you’ll be free.<i>

 

[It’s not just the matter of ending the darkness for me,] she sounded genuine. Not that my judgement was worth much, [it’s what happens imbetween. I can’t hide anything from them anyway.]

 

<i>Withhold their locations; say I’m blocking their signal. Or give them a fake one and tell them I projected it or something. I’m sure you know what they’ll believe.</i>

 

[If I get something wrong it doesn’t matter why or with whom the fault lies. The end is the same. I don’t owe you anything anyway. I hate you, just like Delta and all of your previous helpers did.] She said the last part simply, with only an undertone of bitterness.

 

<i>The plan was that you were our plant, you passed on information. And thus you are, I never betrayed you.</i>

 

[No. The plan was that you would withdraw me if I asked, the plan was that I came to no physical harm. I never wanted this to happen, and when I openly told you I wanted to be withdrawn you were occupied. Even now you still won't help me get out.]

 

<i>You'd just be hunted for the rest of your life anyway. The best thing I could do to you is to end the darkness so this will have never happened.</i>

 

[NO!] she shouted mentally. She then calmed down, [you don't understand. You treat us, all of the Pokémon that endure this darkness, as if you can do whatever you want because there's a possibility it'll have never happened. That we're not really here, we're not important. It's making you lose what separates yourself from Dialga. But it's not like that. You have to remember that we're alive too, and that] I felt her sincerity bleeding into my mind, [ending the darkness will not redeem your crimes against us.]

 

<i>You won't have existed, it is pointless wasting time and effort on helping you. I may end up ruthless like Dialga but,</i> I paused, <i>I am what is required to end this darkness. It is my sacrifice, my willingness to give anything up. And in the end it will be I who succeed, if the cost of that is being as bad as Dialga I am prepared for that. I cannot let their sacrifices be in vain. Please don't tell them Delta and Grovyle's location.</i>

 

[I will neither fight against you or for you. I am not willing to do anything to win, unlike you. How long do I need to delay Delta and Grovyle's location for in order to give them a decent chance?]

 

<i>About… four days should suffice. Longer, if at all possible.</i>

 

[Hm. I can manage four, acting like I've lost their signature. After longer than that they'd just get Dialga to help them, anyway. But you owe me for this, Celebi, and I want your help. If you can't break me out at least try to consider the lives you ruin in your hopeless quest for light.]

 

<i>I'll try,</i> I lied. Her presence receded and I sighed in relief. After all that I had bought Delta and Grovyle time.

 

I wasn't sure what to do next. Despite being the co-ordinator of basically all resistance movements I spent the majority of my time hiding or tailing Grovyle and Delta. I supposed I should start looking around for a back-up, just in case Delta and Grovyle fail. What species this time? Grovyle and Delta did the best, before them it was probably the Houndoom and the Ampharos. I needed someone naïve, who would trust me like Grovyle had.

 

There were too many complications, I decided to worry about that later.

 

I could tail Grovyle and Delta, but I decided against that too. I might as well check on the handful of the few still-loyal Pokémon who hadn't defected or abandoned me. They weren't very useful and I had my suspicions about whether they were spies or not, but they were something. Sighing slightly, I teleported to a small forest grove.

 

Hesitantly, a few Sceptile and Grovyle stepped out or climbed down from the trees. This was one of the last communities of Pokémon that remained sentient, mostly because they had each other and were away from Dialga's influence. This forest was rumoured to house an insane legendary, so everyone kept away. This group were the only inhabitants who hadn't left so staying had served them well.

 

"Hello, Scep," I addressed their leader. When Pokémon lived in communities with their own kind they tended to have nicknames.

 

"Hello Celebi," he replied, squinting at me. He was slowly becoming blind, but his colony would care for him in his old age, "Where have you been lately? We enjoy having visitors."

 

"Ah, you know, travelling," I replied, as carelessly as I could, "I've got a team working on our… problem at the moment."

 

"And him?" a female Sceptile, Scep's mate, chimed in rapidly. It earned her a few glares.

 

"He's doing fine. He'll end up ending it all, you know. He'll be the saviour."

 

"I still can't see him, though?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

 

"No, he's busy." I replied abruptly. Then she looked so crestfallen that I offered her another piece of information she already knew, "When the darkness fades you will have never been apart."

 

"Yes," she replied, careful to hide how she really felt, "He's out there fighting it… one little pinprick of light… my son."

 

# Chapter 10

## Dusknoir's PoV

 

“I really don’t see how this is necessary,” I objected as politely as I could, “As you can see I am still perfectly loyal. The only errors I have made lately have been unavoidable or the Sableye’s fault.”

 

“I don’t want to do this either,” Alakazam sighed, glaring at me, “But it has to be done so stop complaining. Dialga’s orders. He has to make sure that you haven’t had any doubts and that any memories that might trigger doubts are erased.”

 

“Very well,” I replied.

 

Every few years the leading officers for Dialga had their minds examined by the resident psychic: Alakazam. We didn’t trust the Espeon enough. Any doubts were erased, memories were altered and we were checked for any mental disorders. It was a strange precaution to take, but one Dialga deemed necessary.

 

I hoped Sianté had hidden those small thoughts well. Knowing her, she wouldn’t have done it at all just to spite me, no matter what the consequences for her were. That thought sent a shiver down my back.

 

“Let’s begin,” he muttered and instantly started. I opened my mind, as much as I could.

 

<i>Hm. I think I’ll leave you in some childhood memories while I conduct the search.</i> Alakazam told me. He didn’t wait for a reply before I found myself speciating, but unable to act, in one of my earliest memories.

<i>

It was dark and cold. A Duskcloth quietly guarded a small, almost sleeping Duskull, me, sheltering in a small crack in a bleak mountainside. She hushed me gently, using her body to block out the bleak scenery around us, as though to stop me from being corrupted by the outside world.

 

“Sleep now,” her voice was gentle, lulling, “Grasp this life around you. Live to your fullest in the darkness, my light. Don’t ever forget him.” She must have been referring to my father who had given his life for us, to protect us from wild Pokémon. It was normal to try to instil a will for life in the offspring of those who stayed with their young.

 

“Hush, hush...” I could feel my consciousness drifting off as her words lulled me to sleep, “forget what surrounds you.” She then began to sing the familiar, familiar words.

 

“Your face is as barren as the valley you see,

Nothing left to combat this darkness in me.

Do you have a needle to repair Time’s lie?

You are my threat, my light I sew by.”

 

This must be my earliest memory. Somehow Alakazam had dredged this up from the recesses of my mind. When I expected the memory to end, however, it just continued, fading into another verse of the song I hadn’t even remembered before,

 

“Softly I’ll sing you a last hopeless song,

With any chance of repairing time long gone.

Sometimes I wish we has not met,

So let us forget, let us forget.”

 

Something somewhere faded and I found myself waking up, sometime a few years later. It was still a very early memory.

 

“Remember,” my mother told me carefully, “You must never involve yourself in any resistance movement. Their efforts are pointless and futile. We must concentrate on the present, not dreams. The highest possible quality of life for us is our top priority.” I briefly wonder if this is a fake memory implanted by Alakazam. It’s highly possible.

 

“I promise,” the sincere, innocent Duskull that is myself replied.

 

“Time for a combat lesson,” she continued.

</i>

[I don’t have time for this,] I hissed inwardly at Alakazam, [hurry up. I have better things to do. Could you at least change the memory? I’m sick of reliving this one.]

 

{Fine,} I heard a voice grumble, {how’s this then?}

<i>

At first I didn’t recognize the location; it seemed to be some kind of dark cavern. Had I even been here before? {It’s your own fault for complaining,} an ominous voice chimed in my head, {it’s interesting what you supress.} Supress? I was pretty sure I hadn’t deliberately forgotten anything.

 

It was a strange memory; I was floating as a disembodied spirit rather than in my body. Was it fake? Dialga’s propaganda? I could see myself as a Duskull nearby, my mother next to me. She looked young, compared to the wretched state I’d last seen her in in real life. There was another Dusclops near her, a male one. He looked a lot like I did at that stage in my evolution… wait…

 

No. I had no memories of my father. That was it. No memories. This couldn’t be real. Unless it was something repressed dredged up, that was possible.

 

The Duskull, that must have been me, although I couldn’t connect us both, stayed near its mother. Then… was that Celebi? Celebi and some other Pokémon, a Houndoom I think, came roaring towards them. My father… if that was what he was… shielded them…

 

I had to stop myself from laughing. That was a step too far. Celebi? Pfft. [I’m not that stupid Alakazam,] I told him, [are you finished yet?]

 

In reply I awoke in my own body.

 

“That was too obvious; you need to work on the propaganda memories. I was disembodied, and Celebi? How unrealistic.”

 

He only smiled in reply so I got up and left.


	11. pepe/adam sandler/shrek art school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crack requested by ferox  
> written in notepad with no spellcheck for the honour and glory of lord shrek
> 
> prompt: "a pepe shrek adam sandler love triangle"  
> it's set in art school

Pepe awoke in the middle of the night with his face bearing a familiar frown, laden with feeling. He had been dreaming of Shrek for the fifth time this week, and it was only Tuesday. We're both green, he told himself, this is meant to be.

Sighing, he shifted in bed and got up. If art school was hard when you were just a particularly expressive face with a limited torso and no limbs, then getting a date was harder. He couldn't just ask Shrek to get him a cheeky nandos they could eat together (connected by a loving gaze) because he knew the result would be rejection. Besides, somehow he always managed to look disappointed. What if Shrek thought he didn't like him because he was bad at smiling? The way Shrek looked when he made another of his onion sculptures made Pepe glow inside.

Adam Sandler wanted Pepe and wanted him badly, but Pepe knew that was just because he had a weird floating frog head fetish. Adam Sandler could call him the "rarest Pepe" all day if he wanted, but he wouldn't fall for it. This meme frog wanted lasting commitment in any relationship, and a lovely big Shrek.

With a sigh, Pepe picked up his phone to call his best friend Feels Guy for emotional support. They could always share their feelings and have a good hug together. But when feels Guy didn't answer his phone Pepe levitated off the bed and left, art school calling.

-

Despite the obvious nature of Adam Sandler's persistent affection, Pepe just wasn't getting the message. There was only one possible future: the two of them married. He sketched it every day. In his sketchbook. On each canvas he handed in. On lined paper instead of an art history essay.

But Pepe just acted like he wasn't in love with Adam Sandler. It was inconsiderate and thoughtless.

Then this morning he had heard Pepe's "friend" Feels Guy complaining about how Pepe didn't deserve to be the more popular meme. He then began to trash talk Pepe, until just when Adam Sandler was about to step in and stand up for his one true love Feels Guy mentioned that Pepe loved Shrek.

Adam Sandler's blood turned to ice in Adam Sandler's veins. Shrek? That green, tall senpai, with his flowing and long locks of green ears... the one pepetually sculpting the same onion over and over again, apparently some comment on "layers" and "futility" which had made him the envy of the entire art world. In Paris they put his onions in the Louvre. He had been commissioned officially by Leonardo DaVinci's ghost to paint an onion over the Mona Lisa's face and when he had done so the world had openly declared their love for the green-skinned art God.

Adam Sandler defnitley found the worst part Shrek's 'modesty'. Despite his universal success he insisted upon remaining at their small backwards college instead of answering the pleading letters of every academic institution under the sun to become supreme overlord there. He had even refused the position of Fire Emblem Protagonist, something everyone had been after since the position's announcement as it gave you ample opportunities to make Chrom puns.

But Adam Sandler wanted Pepe, and if Pepe wanted invulnerable, perfect Shrek then there was only one solution: cosplay.

-

Shrek was making some layered and exquisite onion art in a full lecture theatre when Adam Sandler walked in and he froze. Ever since he had laid eyes on this smol awkward nerd man with his tiny velociraptor arms he had desired him. Wanted to hold his Adam Sandler head within his arms and cradle him until he fell asleep.

Today his beloved was dressed up as... Shrek? A declaration of love, of devotion!

"Adam Sandler!" Shrek said in his Scottish accent, beginning to juggle onions because there was no one there to stop him.

"S-Shrek?" Adam Sandler looked at the floor in what was obviously bashful infatuation.

"Babe, you've always known that I want to let it rip inside you like a beyblade, but publicly displaying it like this is just the next level!"

"What?"

"I can do next Tuesday for the wedding, you?"

Everyone's eyes bore down on Adam Sandler who began sweating heavily. Whatever Shrek wants, Shrek gets. If he didn't let this happen the bloodthirsty crowd determined to please Shrek would force him into the wedding.

"Sorry!" Maybe if he was honest thing would be better. Shrek knew the truth anyway. Shrek knows everything. "I dressed up as you to impress Pepe, I'm in love with him."

"If that oddball small floating frog head interests you so much we could keep it as a pet," Shrek offered.

Adam Sandler and Pepe both started crying.

"Please listen to me Shrek! This has to be about what we both want, and I don't want to be in a relationship with you. I'm sorry, but I don't. I want Pepe."

Shrek crushed the onion in his hand. "If that's how you feel then I'll give you the frog."

"Wait!" Pepe cried out. "I, too, am an individual! I get a vote! I don't want to be with Adam Sandler, I want to be with you."

Shrek nodded, acknowledging Pepe's personhood. "And as an individual I choose not to be in a relationship with half a frog that can't even smile. The only art you even do is performance art just by being."

There were loud cries from the back of the lecture theatre of "owned" and "wrecked".

"M-maybe..." Pepe sobbed, "we should all move on."

Adam Sandler nodded profoundly, cardboard mock Shrek-ears bobbing. "Love is always hard in art school."


End file.
